


how long can you wait for the one you deserve?

by HeartonFire



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst, Deaf Clint Barton, Depression, Friends to Lovers, Hallucinations, Letters, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Natasha Romanov Lives, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Thanos snap, Therapy, Tony Stark Dies, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, WinterHawk Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 30,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartonFire/pseuds/HeartonFire
Summary: Something was wrong.Before the quinjet even touched the landing pad, Clint knew it. He could feel it in the air. Something had happened, something bad, and he was too late to stop it.When he finally found Steve, sitting on a table in the medical bay, he knew he was right. Steve looked at him, eyes haunted with whatever he had seen, and shook his head.“He’s gone,” he said, voice low and hollow. “Bucky’s gone.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 18
Kudos: 76
Collections: Winterhawk Big Bang 2020





	1. Before

Something was wrong.

Before the quinjet even touched the landing pad, Clint knew it. He could feel it in the air. Something had happened, something bad, and he was too late to stop it.

When he finally found Steve, sitting on a table in the medical bay, he knew he was right. Steve looked at him, eyes haunted with whatever he had seen, and shook his head.

“He’s gone,” he said, voice low and hollow. “Bucky’s gone.”

Clint’s heart dropped into his stomach and he fought to keep his feet. “What do you mean? Bucky’s…”

Steve shook his head again. “Vanished. Right in front of me. I saw it happen.”

Clint leaned heavily against the doorframe, his knees buckling slightly as he processed what Steve was telling him. “What happened?”

“Thanos.”

* * *

_Eighteen months earlier..._

The farmhouse was the same as he remembered: a little lopsided, with a slightly musty smell that might have been dust or maybe mold. Clint was going to have plenty of time to figure it out; he wasn’t going anywhere that might alert anyone to where he was. From the rumors he heard swirling on the radio when he bothered to listen, there was a call to lock them all up for what happened in Germany, and he wasn’t about to give anyone a reason to send him to rot in some cell. Besides, there was something comforting about sitting on his front porch, watching the fields around him sway with the wind. It was peaceful, out of the way, safe. 

Of course it couldn’t stay that way for long. 

_Favor?_

Natasha. They weren’t going to stop being friends just because Tony and Steve were fighting, or even because they had chosen different sides, but he wasn’t really expecting to hear from anyone for a while, honestly.

He had also never figured out how to tell her no.

_What do you need?_

_Incoming._

Freezing where he stood, Clint chanced a glance out the window. A beat-up truck, not unlike the one already in his driveway, was driving slowly towards the house, throwing up a cloud of dust all around it. Clint tensed, mentally inventorying his weapons and their locations. His best bow was in the front closet, so that’s where he went, notching an arrow before cracking the door open.

Steve raised an arm, cautious smile on his face. Clint lowered his bow and opened the door.

“What the hell are you doing here?” As the question came out of his mouth, he saw Bucky Barnes step out of the other side of the truck, metal arm noticeably missing. Bucky’s eyes darted around, scoping out the location like it might be crawling with enemies. “Natasha,” Clint muttered, shaking his head and pulling out his phone.

 _Thanks for the heads up._ Typical of her to give him less than five minutes to prepare for the Winter Soldier and Captain America showing up at his front door.

 _Didn’t want to give you a chance to say no_. Clint could almost see the devious smile on Natasha’s face and he scowled at the image.

_How did you even know where I was? This place is a secret._

No response. Clint shoved his phone back into his pocket and tried not to think about all the times it had really come in handy for Natasha to be so far ahead of him. It didn’t matter. He had a bigger situation on his hands.

“Hey, Clint,” Steve said, putting an arm around Bucky to lead him forward. Bucky frowned, shooting dark looks at Steve every few seconds. “I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

After everything they had been through, and after seeing how brutal things could get when it came to Bucky, Clint wasn’t going to say no to Steve. He had the space, he could use the company, and there was plenty to do around the farm that he probably wouldn’t be able to do by himself anyway. Having someone around with super strength could only help.

Bucky mostly kept to himself, holing up in the room Clint had offered him after Steve left, but Clint heard the floorboards creak late at night, all the way down the hall to the kitchen. Clint didn’t take it personally; Bucky had been through a lot, based on what Steve had told him and what he knew from the stories, so whatever he needed to do to cope was fine by Clint. Clint always made a little extra of whatever he ate for dinner and put it on the top shelf in the fridge. It was always gone by morning.

A couple of weeks into their cohabitation, Clint was working on shoring up the front porch roof, which sagged in one corner. Years of rain and snow and neglect hadn’t exactly made for the strongest structure, so Clint was up on a ladder, nails clenched between his teeth while he hammered a new support beam into place. Or tried to, because it turned out it wasn’t so easy to hold a piece of wood in place and hammer a nail at the same time.

“Need some help?” Clint looked up to see Bucky standing in the front door, watching him curiously.

Gingerly taking the nails out of his mouth, Clint nodded. “Sure. Can you hold this?” He jerked his head at the beam in question.

Bucky shrugged and stood beneath it, raising his arm to hold it there. His muscles bulged as he squeezed the beam and Clint was momentarily distracted. That super soldier serum was no joke. Shaking his head, he focused on the actual task in front of him and they managed to get the beam into place.

“You hungry?” Clint asked, after they got the rest of the structure together.

Bucky shrugged again, but followed him into the kitchen.

“Let’s see,” Clint said, bending to peer into the fridge. “I think we have eggs, sandwich stuff, some leftover chili from the other day. What do you want to eat?”

Bucky just blinked at him, before staring down at his feet. “I don’t care. Anything’s fine.”

Clint wanted to push a little, tell him that he could have whatever he wanted, but the frown cutting deep grooves into Bucky’s forehead told him it might not be a great idea. Clint didn’t fully understand it, but there was clearly more to this than lunch for Bucky.

“Okay, sandwiches it is,” Clint said, clapping his hands and grabbing what he needed. He tried to think of a smaller decision Bucky could make, one that only had two options “You like pickles?”

Bucky didn’t answer, just kept staring down at the chipped linoleum floor like he hadn’t heard Clint.

“Hey, Bucky?” Clint said gently. Bucky looked up at him, hair falling into his eyes. “It’s okay to like things. Or not like things. You’re allowed to have opinions. I encourage them.”

Bucky looked down again, chewing on his bottom lip. “I don’t remember what I like. It never mattered, when I was...” He trailed off, swallowing hard.

“That’s okay,” Clint said quickly. “I just want you to know that you can make choices here. You can even try things and change your mind afterwards. I don’t judge.” Bucky shook his head, like he didn’t quite believe him. “You don’t have to hide from me, either.”

Bucky’s head shot up, eyebrows knitted together. “I wasn’t hiding. I was protecting you.”

“You don’t have to do that either,” Clint said, as calmly as he could. Bucky’s hand was clenched into a fist so hard his knuckles were white, but Clint wasn’t afraid. It looked to him like Bucky was trying to hold himself together, not getting ready to hurt Clint. “You do know I’m an Avenger, right?”

“You’re human. I’m dangerous.”

Clint nodded. “I get that, but I really doubt that Steve would have left you here if he thought that you were going to hurt me.”

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “I guess that’s true.”

“It is. So, will you please stop hiding in the bedroom and help out around here? Or at least keep me company while I try to keep this place from falling apart?” Clint grinned, trying to lighten the suddenly heavy mood in the room.

Bucky smiled hesitantly. “I’ll try.”

“Cool. So, pickles or no pickles?”

“Pickles.” Bucky nodded after he said it, like he was confirming it to himself. His smile widened a little as he nodded, and he ate the sandwich Clint gave him with an enthusiasm Clint wasn’t sure it deserved.

* * *

“You know Steve used to be scrawny, right?” Bucky said while they were painting the newly-repaired front porch.

Clint laughed. “Yeah, I’ve seen the pictures in his file. Hard to believe, if you ask me.”

“And then he shows up to the front, all buffed up and tall, but he couldn’t fool me. Still the same Steve who could never stay out of a fight.”

“Still can’t,” Clint said, laughing. 

“That’s for sure,” Bucky agreed, smile fading slightly. “I wish I could remember more. They wiped me so many times, it’s like everything’s all jumbled up. I don’t know what’s real and what they made me believe.” He looked thoughtful. “Talking about it helps a little.”

“Then let’s keep talking about it.”

By the time they had finished the porch and started on making the front door purple, Bucky had told him some of the things he could remember about his family, old-timey Brooklyn, even what the war was like, before he was turned into the Winter Soldier. Some of his memories were just fragments, but he was smiling happily by the time the door was done, purple and white paint streaked across his face. It somehow made his cheekbones even sharper and brought out the blue in his eyes, and that just didn’t seem fair. Clint had a feeling _he_ looked more like a clown than a model, but there was only so much he had to work with.

“I like this color,” Bucky said, looking up at the door. He’d started randomly telling Clint when he liked things and when he didn’t. Clint considered it progress.

“Me too. Purple is the best color.” Clint tapped his aids, which he had insisted be purple. Otherwise, what was even the point of having them?

Bucky nodded, grinning. “What about your family? I’ve just been talkin’ your ear off.”

“I don’t mind,” Clint said. It was the truth. He liked listening to Bucky talk about the things he used to do, back when he was just himself and didn’t have all this history weighing him down. “My family’s nothing special, believe me.”

“I don’t believe that,” Bucky said, frowning a little. “Come on, tell me something. You got siblings?”

Clint sighed, setting down his brush and pushing his hair out of his face with the back of his forearm. He was sweating from working outside all day, and pulled his shirt up to wipe his face before the sweat dripped into his eyes. When he pulled it down again, Bucky was staring at him, eyes snapping back up to Clint’s face when he straightened up. Bucky’s cheeks were a little pink, but that was probably just from the sun exposure.

“I have a brother. Barney.”

“What’s he do?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to.” There was a bite to his voice that he didn’t mean, and at the confused look on Bucky’s face, Clint sighed again, running a hand over his still-damp face. “We’re not close. Not anymore.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Bucky nodded, like he was willing to drop it, but Clint felt the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “The short version of the story is my parents died when we were kids, and we ran away to join the circus.” Bucky nodded again, still looking curious. “Turned out the circus was run by crooks, Barney got in with them, and they, uh, kind of turned on me.”

“Turned on you?” Bucky said slowly, pushing his hair behind his ear. Clint made a mental note to pick up some of those hair elastics the next time he was in town, though watching the strands slide through Bucky’s fingers was a pleasant distraction from their current conversation. “What do you mean?”

“You know how people talk about being stabbed in the back?” Bucky nodded, eyes narrowing. “They did it literally, as well as metaphorically. I almost died so my brother could have a shot at ‘making it big’ with those idiots.” Clint was surprised at the bitterness in his own voice. “Shit, I’m sorry. I haven’t talked about this in a long time. I shouldn’t be complaining. It doesn’t matter now.”

Bucky blinked at him. “Why are you sorry?”

“You shouldn’t have to listen to me complain. Tell me more about skinny Steve.”

Bucky shook his head. “You can complain, Clint. That all sounds terrible, and I’m so sorry that happened to you. “

“It was a long time ago.” Clint felt awkward now, like he had revealed a weak spot when he didn’t mean to. Natasha always told him he was going to get himself in trouble like that.

Bucky nodded, but he looked thoughtful, eyes studying Clint’s face. Clint shrugged, gathering the paint cans to bring them inside. 

“Hey, thanks,” Bucky said quietly.

Clint stopped what he was doing and looked sharply at Bucky. “For what? Dumping all my emotional baggage on you?”

“No,” Bucky said, eyes searing into Clint. “For helping me remember.”

He took one of the cans from Clint and headed around the side of the house, looking lighter than he had since he arrived. Clint stared after him and felt some of the fear and anger that had swelled in him at the mention of his brother dissipate. As much as he hoped he was helping Bucky, maybe Bucky was helping him too. 

* * *

Clint got used to Bucky being around, and after several months of living in the same space, they had developed something of a rhythm. Clint couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but he could tell when Bucky was in the house, and more importantly, when he wasn’t. 

One morning, when he realized the house was a little too still, Clint sat up instantly, reaching for his aids and the knife he kept in his bedside table. No one knew about this place, but then, Natasha wasn’t supposed to know either, and she had found it easily. It wasn’t impossible that someone else had found it, too.

Creeping down the hallway, Clint peeked around each corner, looking for any intruders. There was no one there. Heart thundering in his chest, he tried to think what to do. If Bucky was kidnapped or otherwise compromised, Clint would have to get help. Bucky had been working so hard to come back to normalcy, whatever that looked like for him now. For it to be torn away would be devastating. If protecting Bucky from that meant Clint emerging from hiding, Clint would do it, any day of the week.

Stepping outside, still barefoot and in nothing but his sweatpants, Clint tried to spot any tire tracks or telltale signs of a helicopter landing. Everything looked like it had the previous day, hardly even a blade of grass out of place. 

Except for the barn door, which was just slightly ajar. Clint knew he should go back into the house, call someone for backup, follow some kind of procedure. But in his hurry to find Bucky he hadn’t even grabbed his phone. So much for calling for help. He could almost feel Natasha’s disappointment in his impulsiveness. He plunged ahead anyway.

Clint moved as quickly and quietly as he could to peer into the dim space of the barn. He didn’t see anyone at first, but when his eyes adjusted, he spotted Bucky curled into himself against the back wall.

“Bucky!” Clint called in a harsh whisper, not stepping into the room in case it was a trap. Of course, if it was a trap, whoever had set it up could hear him too, but it was too late to worry about that now. Bucky looked up, a wide smile on his face. He looked happier than Clint had ever seen him. “What’s going on?”

“Come see,” Bucky said, voice low and quiet. There was something cradled in the crook of his elbow. As Clint approached, letting the knife fall to the ground, he saw what it was: a small orange cat. It stretched and yawned against Bucky’s chest and he just held it closer, letting it snuggle in tight. “I like him.”

Clint stared down at him. Here was Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, completely overcome by a stray cat he found in the barn.

“I heard him crying when I woke up this morning, so I came out and found him. He was stuck under that beam,” Bucky said, nodding at a piece of wood Clint had bought for the porch that they hadn’t needed. It must have fallen off the top of the pile and trapped the cat. “He looks pretty healthy, and he might help with the mice in the basement.”

Clint smiled. The mice had been a problem since he bought the place and Bucky knew how much it bothered Clint that he hadn’t been able to find a good way to get them out. “He might. But what should we call him?”

“Pickles,” Bucky said softly, like he’d been thinking about it until Clint got there. He peeked up at Clint, eyes wide and sad. “I never had a pet.”

“And you want this one?”

Bucky nodded.

“Then let’s get him inside and cleaned up.” Bucky handed the cat to Clint while he stood up. Once he was on his feet, Clint pulled Bucky into a tight, one-armed hug. Bucky tensed at the touch, but he relaxed into it when Clint didn’t let go. Bucky was warm and strong, and Clint had forgotten how nice a hug could feel in a quiet moment like this. It had been a long time since he’d hugged anyone like this. “Please don’t go disappearing to find more cats, though. I was worried.”

“You were?” Bucky said, pulling away to see Clint nod. “Sorry.”

Clint smiled and they headed back to the house. They had a cat to take care of.

It was like that first hug opened a space between them over the next few weeks that had been closed off before. Neither of them had come from especially affectionate backgrounds, and they both still flinched a little at unexpected touches, but that hug had brought them closer in a new way. They certainly weren’t about to start cuddling regularly, but sometimes Bucky would sit next to Clint on the couch, pressing the sides of their thighs together to ground himself when he needed a little extra reassurance. Sometimes he would touch the small of Clint’s back when he moved past him to get to the fridge. Sometimes Clint would brush hair out of Bucky’s eyes while he was working on something and his hands were full. Sometimes it felt like it could be more than that, but for now, it was comfortable and easy and safe.

Pickles was instantly attached to Bucky, following him around the house and bringing him all the mice he caught, much to Bucky’s delight. He even slept in Bucky’s bed, curled in the space between his arm and his side, purring all the time. 

Clint was getting pretty attached to Bucky, too. All the incidental touches and their regular talks about their pasts and their histories had brought them closer, and Clint really liked having Bucky around. Now that he was comfortable and had a little distance from everything that had happened, he was funny and sweet. Clint knew he was getting too close, but he couldn’t help himself. They were out in the middle of nowhere, with no one else around, and it was easy to imagine what could be, if they wanted.

One night, when they were watching Clint’s box set of _Dog Cops_ and Bucky fell asleep, Clint looked down at him. Bucky’s head had fallen to Clint’s shoulder, and Clint watched Bucky’s chest rise and fall gently, eyelashes fluttering slightly as he dreamed. Bucky must have felt Clint looking at him, opening his eyes to blink up at him. He didn’t look scared or worried, just curious, eyes wide and clear.

“You okay?” Clint said quietly, voice feeling stuck in his throat. Bucky’s eyes were an icy blue in the dim light, but his smile was warm.

“Yeah,” he said, shifting his weight a little, but not moving away from Clint. “You?”

Clint shrugged. “Sure.” Bucky was very close to him still, warm and heavy against Clint’s shoulder. Pickles meowed from the other end of the couch, breaking whatever moment had started to build between them, and Clint felt a combination of relief and disappointment that he wasn’t willing to examine too closely. 

Bucky leaned away and scratched the cat on his head. Clint took a deep breath, stretching his arms over his head. 

“Maybe we should head to bed.”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said, nodding. He didn’t move to get up, thigh still pressed against Clint’s.

“Night, Bucky,” Clint said, but when he went to stand, Bucky’s hand clasped his knee and he stilled. 

“Clint,” Bucky said, voice low and rough. The sound of it vibrated through Clint and he felt goosebumps rising on his arms. 

“Yeah?” His voice cracked on the word and he cleared his throat. “Bucky?”

Bucky leaned closer again and Clint’s eyes fluttered closed. It had felt like they were moving towards this for weeks now, and he wasn’t about to stop it, now that it was happening.

Before Bucky could close the space between them, before Clint could finally know for sure what it would be like, Clint’s phone blared to life, startling them away from each other. His phone hadn’t gone off for a while; no one was trying to find him these days.

Clint tensed, fist clenching before he fished the phone out of his pocket.

“This better be important,” he said harshly, thinking of what he could be doing instead of talking to whoever was on the other end.

“Clint.”

“Nat?” Bucky stiffened, sitting up straighter beside Clint. “What’s going on?” She wouldn’t be calling him if she didn’t have a reason.

“They know,” she said softly. 

Clint’s heart started pounding hard in his chest, and a sickening thrum of unease washed over him. “How?” Natasha wouldn’t betray him like that. Steve wouldn’t either. How had they found him? He didn’t need to ask who they were.

“I don’t know yet, but they tracked you down and they’re coming for you. Ross is not happy about your disappearing act after Germany.”

Clint sighed, running a hand over his face. “How long?”

“Not very. Steve’s on his way for Bucky.”

Clint’s heart sank. Of course, Bucky would have to go before whoever was coming for Clint got here. If they found the Winter Soldier hiding out here, on top of Clint going off the grid, it wouldn’t be good for either of them.

“Thanks, Nat.”

“See you soon, Clint.”

“What happened?” Bucky asked, as soon as Clint hung up the phone. “What’s wrong?”

Clint felt numb, hollow, like this couldn’t be real. But of course it was. This was much more in line with the pattern of Clint’s life than the fairy tale he’d started to imagine of staying at the farm with Bucky for the foreseeable future. 

“Ross knows I’m here. They don’t know you’re here but they’re coming. Soon. Like, really soon.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “I have to go.” 

Clint frowned. “Yeah. Steve’s on his way. He’ll keep you safe.”

“Okay. I should pack. I need to be ready” His face had transformed back into the mask Clint had seen during the battle in Germany; cold, detached, a little sad. He wasn’t Bucky anymore. He was whatever was left of the Winter Soldier and it broke Clint’s heart to see him like that.

“Wait, Bucky,” Clint was the one to reach out now. His fingers closed around Bucky’s wrist, desperate to keep him there, keep him close. He didn’t even know what to say, but he knew he didn’t want Bucky to leave the room. As soon as he did, there was no going back.

“Clint, I have to go,” Bucky said hollowly, not looking at Clint. “Before they get here, I have to be gone.”

Clint felt Bucky’s pulse racing underneath his skin, and he tried to force himself to let Bucky go. “I don’t want you to go.” He hated how his voice broke over the lump in his throat.

“Please, Clint. I can’t risk you. If they find me here…” Bucky’s voice cracked a little. He looked down to where Clint’s hand was still clutched around his wrist, a flash of the real Bucky cutting through the Soldier. “Please.”

Clint let go and watched Bucky disappear into the hallway, Pickles on his heels. He heard the thumps and rustling that meant he was packing. Bucky was leaving. 

Bucky was leaving and there was nothing Clint could do about it. He stayed where he was, frozen on the couch. He should help Bucky pack, he knew that, but he couldn’t move. They had been safe. Now they weren’t.

He felt the vibration of the quinjet before he heard it, and he knew there was nothing to be done. Bucky came back in, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, eyes still wild with stress and fear and other emotions Clint couldn’t quite identify. He stood slowly, and Bucky focused on him, a strained smile on his face.

“Bucky,” Clint started to say, but there was a banging on the door and Bucky tensed. He nodded at Clint, before turning to disappear through the backdoor. Pickles seemed to sense that something was wrong, pawing at the door and meowing sadly. Clint picked him up and cradled him, refusing to let his tears fall. There was no point crying over it; Bucky was gone. Clint needed to start figuring out where to run now that this safe house was blown. Clint knew he couldn’t outrun the government forever, but he had to try. He could work on getting over Bucky later.

* * *

* * *

Everything was so bright. So loud.

Holograms and hover technology and flashing lights and buzzing alarms kept Bucky awake for days after he arrived in Wakanda. King T’Challa and his sister, Princess Shuri, had agreed to shelter Bucky for the time being. They had given him a beautiful suite of rooms with every comfort he could imagine, but he just couldn’t settle in.

Steve wouldn’t tell him anything, except that Clint was fine. He’d been caught trying to run to another safe house, so now he was under house arrest at Stark Tower in New York. 

Steve wasn’t staying, either.

“I’m too visible, Buck,” he said, shaking his head sadly, in that way he did when he was trying to be brave. Bucky had known him too long to fall for it. “If I just disappear, people will notice, and then they might track me down and find you.”

“You’re just going to leave me here?” Bucky said, trying to guilt him into staying. There was a time that that would have worked, but things were different now. 

“I have to. But there are great people here, and I’ll come back once I smooth things over back in the States. As soon as I can, I’ll get you back home. I promise.”

Bucky let Steve pull him in for a hug, then watched him head back to the jet that had delivered them here directly from Clint’s farm in Iowa. Staring out at the cityscape in front of him, Bucky couldn’t help but think of the gentle breeze rippling the grass outside Clint’s house, of the quiet peace they had built there. He thought of Pickles and missed the warm weight of the cat on his lap when he would watch TV, the purrs vibrating through him while they slept. He hoped Pickles was bringing some comfort to Clint now. He hated to think of Clint, trapped in New York. Clint didn’t deserve that. He deserved to live a quiet life in his farmhouse, fixing up the rest of the projects on his ever-growing list.

Maybe that was part of Bucky’s discomfort with this place. Everything was so shiny and new and perfect. He couldn’t find a single crooked line or loose nail that needed to be fixed. He even missed the slightly musty smell of the small bedroom Clint had given him. It had felt good to work with his remaining hand, fix things, build things, do something constructive for once. It had felt good to do those things with Clint, who never judged him or pitied him, just listened to his stories and let Bucky find his way back to who he might have been if Hydra hadn’t twisted him into a weapon.

They had been on the edge of something, before this. They had been so close, and Bucky was sure that if Natasha had just waited five more minutes, Bucky could have had his first kiss in seventy years with a guy that he really cared about and who he knew cared about him.

Then again, if Natasha had waited five more minutes, they could have both been arrested and Bucky would have been sent somewhere much less comfortable than his suite of rooms in the palace here in Wakanda. He’d deserve it, of course; he’d done plenty to deserve a jail cell. He was less sure he’d done anything to deserve all the luxury around him. The only thing that kept Bucky from diving too deep into his self-loathing was remembering that getting out of there had kept Clint out of more trouble. It helped, a little.

He had full freedom to go anywhere within the boundaries of Birnin Zana, and everyone he’d met so far had been very kind and welcoming, especially considering he had once been accused of killing their former king. But being around all these people was making Bucky prickle with anxiety. Every time he tried to venture out of the palace, his vision narrowed and his head spun until he was safely back inside the building. If anyone was trying to hurt innocent people, if even one person had access to his trigger words, they could use him to kill hundreds. After what happened with Zemo, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself. 

So he walked around the palace, circling every floor and only sleeping when he was nearly dead on his feet. He didn’t think anyone noticed, until Princess Shuri came to him a few weeks into his stay.

“How can I help you, Sergeant Barnes?” she asked, eyes bright with curiosity. He showed her into his rooms and she took a seat at his table, watching him carefully. 

“Uh, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you need something to help you sleep?” Bucky shook his head, hard. He’d spent too many years artificially asleep and he wasn’t about to go back to that, now that he had a choice. “Does your shoulder bother you?” 

Bucky looked down at the place where his metal arm used to be, and shook his head again. “No more than usual. Why?”

Shuri smiled. “My brother might be too caught up in being king to notice, but I can see that you are not comfortable here. I want to help.”

“Thanks, but I’m not sure you can.”

Her grin widened. “I’m confident that I can, and I will if you let me.” Bucky blinked at her. “I have been working on a design for a new prototype for your arm. I hope that you will take a look at it.”

“My arm is fine.” Bucky had never considered getting a different arm to replace the one Hydra had given him. It would be nice to have two hands again, but the mere memory of what that arm had done in service of Hydra made Bucky feel ill. He wasn’t sure he wanted to have that kind of power again. He wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“You don’t have to decide now,” Shuri said, barrelling past the issue when she sensed his hesitance. “But I also wonder if you might be more comfortable outside the city.”

“What?”

“I’ve noticed a pattern in your behavior.”

“You’ve been watching me?” Bucky felt his pulse starting to race.

Shuri waved him off. “I watch everything, don’t take it personally.” 

Bucky wanted to trust her. She was the first person besides Clint to treat him like a normal person, instead of an object of pity or disgust.

“I just thought, since you seem a little cooped up here, what if you didn’t have to be?”

“I can’t be out with all those civilians,” Bucky mumbled. “It’s dangerous.”

Shuri nodded, looking thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking about that, too, and I think there might be a way to work with the electric impulses in your brain to deactivate the trigger words.”

“What do you mean, electric impulses?” Bucky said, heart instantly pounding hard against his ribs at the idea of having electricity applied to his brain again. He sat up straight in his chair. “I’m not being wiped again. I’m not.”

Shuri shook her head wildly, waving her hands. “No. Of course not. Not what I’m suggesting. At all. I just think there might be a way to get those words out without hurting you. I’m still working on it, but I think it can be done.”

Bucky settled a bit, waiting for her to explain further. “How?”

“I’m not sure yet, but once I’m sure I can do it, you’ll be the first to know. But first, would you like to have some space to yourself?”

Bucky shrugged. “I’m fine.” He shook his head, thinking of Clint. It was okay for him to need things and want things. Bucky was allowed to ask for things. “No, I’m not. What did you have in mind?”

Shuri’s idea turned out to be a little house, far from the edge of the city, out in the hills, but still fully outfitted with more technology than Bucky could ever need. There were a few goats outside, but aside from them, Bucky was on his own, away from anyone he could potentially hurt, and with enough security measures to almost make him feel secure. T’Challa did not allow Bucky to bring weapons with him beyond a basic hunting rifle to protect the goats, but that was okay. Bucky needed a break from all the violence that always hung in the air around him. Maybe this could be a fresh start.

* * *

Bucky had just settled in, breathing in the open air and letting his body relax into the quiet for the first time since he left Iowa, when the screen on the wall chirped at him. Shuri had shown him how it worked and even let him set the alert sound so it wouldn’t startle him too badly. He had decided he liked her. Something about the rapid-fire way she talked and the way she was far too smart for him reminded him of his little sisters. Bucky tapped where she had shown him and a message materialized in front of him.

_To: barnesjb@securemail.com_

_From: bartoncf@securemail.com_

_Hey,_

_Hope you’re doing ok. Pickles misses you a lot. He’s started following me around, but I know it’s not the same. He hated being on the run for those couple of days, for the record. Cried the entire time._

_We’re back in New York now and I’ve got some fancy new ankle jewelry to keep me from running away to the country again. It’s not so bad though; Tony’s got some fun toys to keep me busy. I think he likes Pickles too, even though he complained about having a cat around when we first got here. I swear I saw him modifying a laser pointer to play with him, but I can’t be sure._

_How is Wakanda? No one will tell me much, except that you got there ok and you’re safe. And that’s good, but how are you doing? I bet you’re making new friends and you’ll forget all about me and_ _Pickles in no time. I miss you._

_Your favorite archer,_

_Clint_

Bucky must have read it over three times, poring over every word. He could almost hear Clint’s voice saying the words, and it felt like a warm blanket descending over him. Clint was okay. Clint had Pickles. Clint was thinking about him enough to send him a message.

Of course, after the third time he read it, Bucky realized he would have to respond. He had no idea how to do that, and not because of the technology. Shuri had shown him how to send messages, but Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. 

**To: bartoncf@securemail.com**

**From: barnesjb@securemail.com**

**Hi,**

**Glad you’re doing ok, and I’m sure Pickles will have Stark wrapped around his paws in no time. He’s good at that.**

**Wakanda is nice. I think Princess Shuri might have Stark beat on toys, but I’m mostly spending my time with my new friends out here in the hills. Once I figure out how to send pictures on this thing, I’ll show you.**

**I’m sorry you’re stuck in New York. I know you wanted to stay in Iowa, and that’s my fault. Whenever we can both get back there, I’ll help you get the rest of the place fixed up, I promise. I miss you too.**

**Your favorite former assassin,**

**Bucky**

He hesitated before sending it. He felt so awkward like this, writing to Clint. It felt sterile, detached, nothing like their long talks and warm evenings at the farm. He had a vague memory of writing letters home during the war, and this felt much the same, like he was sending his feelings out into a void, not knowing when or if the reply would come.

Bucky finally hit the button and sank back onto the bed. It was soft and plush, but it didn’t feel right. None of the beds here felt right, all of them too lump-free and too cold without Pickles beside him. Moving down to the floor, he pulled the blankets down to wrap himself up tightly. He didn’t think he’d sleep, but his eyes started closing almost as soon as the lights dimmed around him. The stillness of the night around him almost made him feel like he was back at the farm.

He tried to stop himself from looking at the screen when he woke just before dawn, but then he saw the light blinking and had to know. This time, Clint had sent a picture.

Pickles was looking up at the screen with sad eyes, reaching for the camera like he was reaching for Bucky. Bucky’s heart clenched and he realized just how much he missed the little furball. He could see Clint’s big hands clutched around Pickles’ middle, and Bucky felt a pang of missing him too.

_Bucky,_

_Please don’t apologize for anything. You didn’t cause any of this. I made decisions and now I have to live with the consequences, even if those consequences happened to come back at exactly the wrong moment. Look at me, being an adult!_

_I will take you up on that help whenever we can go back, though. God knows I can’t do it all by myself. Sounds like that might be a while, but I’m definitely stealing some of Tony’s tools whenever it is, and that can only help. You snag some of that Wakandan tech and we’ll be good to go._

_Tell me all about your new friends. Any wild Wakandan parties yet? Any cute guys flirting with you that I should know about? Give me something to think about besides the fact that I’ve already exhausted all the preset configurations at the shooting range and have nothing to do. I’m bored and I definitely miss you more._

_World’s best archer,_

_Clint_

Bucky’s face split into a smile so wide it almost hurt, reading what Clint had written. It was so like Clint not to blame Bucky for his current predicament, though it didn’t change anything really. 

His heart swelled at the idea of going back to Iowa once all of this had blown over, at getting back to working alongside Clint and finding that cozy comfort that had been all around them there. Bucky could almost picture it: Pickles on his lap, Clint’s arm around his shoulders, and no one else around. 

The idea of finding some cute guy to flirt with who wasn’t Clint was laughable to Bucky, but he realized that Clint might not know that. Bucky would have to find a way to show him that he hadn’t forgotten about their almost-kiss that quickly. He got the feeling Clint hadn’t either.

But instead of jumping to respond immediately, Bucky took the new phone Shuri had given him and went outside. The goats were in their pen, just waking up with the sun, which was sending orange rays across the rolling hills. The air was cool and Bucky took a long breath. It wasn’t perfect, but this was much better than being in the palace in the middle of a city. He was safe here, and he wasn’t alone. Not really.

Once he had a picture that wasn’t blurry or half-blocked by his thumb, Bucky went back inside and swiped like he remembered Shuri doing to get something to show on the big screen. To his great surprise, it worked. He liked this technology a lot better than the burner phone Steve had given him when he went to stay with Clint. It made sense to him in a way that technology rarely did these days. Maybe this place really wouldn’t be too bad. If Shuri could take away the trigger words, it would be perfect. Bucky would really be free then, like he hadn’t imagined he could be since he had escaped from Hydra.

**Good morning,**

**Oh yeah, all kinds of wild parties with these guys. No other neighbors for miles, which is just how I like it. They don’t talk much, but I’m sure they’re just shy. You know how it is.**

**No cute guys to speak of. I hear they’re keeping all of those in New York for some reason.**

**Are you really telling me you can’t find a way to entertain yourself, even if you can’t configure the shooting range the way you want? We never had any trouble finding things to do. I’m sure you’ll think of something.**

**Tell me more about the Tower. What can you see from the window?**

**World’s newest goat herder,**

**Bucky**

Bucky hoped Clint would recognize his attempts to flirt across the distance, as rusty as he was. He knew Clint was hours behind him, so instead of waiting for a reply, he grabbed some toast for breakfast and went outside to tend to the goats. He had a feeling they were meant to be some kind of therapeutic activity, but he didn’t mind. They were sweet, making soft noises in the early morning light, and it was nice to take care of something, nurture something, instead of jumping right back into another fight. They couldn’t replace Pickles, but he’d take it for now.

The morning was cool and quiet. Bucky could just see the outline of Birnin Zana’s skyline through the hazy clouds, just past the farthest copse of trees. Shuri had really done a good job of finding him a place where he could be on his own.

Just as he thought of her, Shuri appeared in a small hovercraft. She smiled as she climbed down and walked towards him. One of the goats let out a low bleat and her grin widened.

“I see you’re settling in,” she said, and Bucky nodded.

“Yeah, thanks. It’s really great.” 

Shuri nodded at the little house and Bucky waved her inside.

“I was hoping to speak with you about some of my ideas, if that’s alright.” Bucky nodded, though he felt his guard go up when she took a breath. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me what you remember,” she let out in a rush.

“About what?” Bucky trusted Shuri, but every time he thought about his past and what had happened with Hydra and Zemo and Stark, it made his stomach turn. He hoped that wasn’t what she meant, but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to be that lucky.

“Anything you can remember about,” Shuri paused, clearing her throat, “about your time as…”

“The Winter Soldier?” Bucky said, and she nodded.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I completely understand. I am just hoping it will help me determine a way forward. I am sure I can solve the problem of your trigger words. I just need to figure out how.”

Bucky took a long, slow breath. Bucky wanted the trigger words out of his head and he wanted to go home, so if this was the way to do it, he would do it.

It took them a few hours, but once he was finished telling Shuri all about it, with her taking notes all the while, he felt strangely relieved. Bucky had never actually talked to anyone about what happened to him when he was with Hydra, and even though it hurt to remember, it helped to hear Shuri’s muttered curses and see her anger grow with every detail he was able to pull out of his scrambled memories. 

“Thank you, Sergeant Barnes. I am so sorry for what happened to you, and I will do what I can to make it right.”

“Thanks, Shuri. You’re really incredible, you know that?”

Shuri looked down, but Bucky saw the smile she tried to hide. “My brother would disagree, but I’m glad someone thinks so.”

“Eh, brothers are supposed to think their little sisters are pains. It’s not his fault.”

Shuri nodded and stood to leave. “I will let you know when I have more information for you. Oh and I would still like you to look at my arm prototype, if you are open to it.”

“Sure, yeah. You know where to find me.”

Once Shuri was gone, Bucky took another breath before turning to the screen on the wall. He hadn’t looked at it while he and Shuri were talking, too focused on getting what few details he could recall right, but now he could see that it was blinking wildly. After doing all that, telling his story, or at least as much as he could remember, there was something warm and safe in knowing that Clint was still out there, on the other side of the ocean, ready to talk.

_Howdy Buckaroo,_

_You don’t mind if I call you Buckaroo, right? It popped into my head, and I just can’t shake it. Cool? Cool. I thought so. It’s very outlaw, very lone wolf, so I think it suits you._

_I_ _can_ _find other things to do, but it’s hard to stay occupied when I can’t leave this Tower. Sure, it has a movie theater, a fully-outfitted gym, the aforementioned (like that word choice?) shooting range, and a bunch of other stuff I haven’t really looked into yet, but it’s like being told I can’t go outside just makes me want to that much more. At least you get to go out and hang with your new buddies. I’m stuck here, finding new places to hide Tony’s screwdrivers. He has too many anyway._

_Which brings me to my next point: have you named the goats? If so, I need to know their names. If not, I have some suggestions. Goaty, Mr. Goat, Mrs. Goat, Spot, that kind of thing. Let me know. I’m pretty invested in these goats now, after seeing them in that picture. Pickles is getting jealous._

_Definitely can’t complain about the view (though it is missing a certain handsome former assassin). I can almost see my old building in Bed-Stuy from here, especially when I sneak out onto the roof. The ankle bracelet hasn’t figured that one out yet, and I’m not telling anyone. I hope I can trust you to keep my secret._

_Tell me more about Wakanda. I want to hear everything. We never had any info on them at SHIELD, and now that Ii’ve got a man on the inside, I’m so interested. And I kind of want Princess Shuri to meet Tony, especially if her tech really is better than his. I bet his head would explode._

_The most creative namer ever,_

_Clint_

Bucky could hear Clint’s voice in every word, and he didn’t miss the compliment Clint snuck in there. It was becoming clear that it wasn’t just Bucky who was still thinking about what would have happened if Natasha hadn’t interrupted them when she did.

They kept writing to each other, their emails growing longer and their questions more specific. It almost felt like a conversation they might have had back at the farm, but the slower pace made it almost easier to get a lot of things out in the open. Bucky couldn’t see Clint’s reactions, so he could tell him things, ask him things that he might not have if they were in the same place. 

**Clint,**

**You can’t keep calling me Buckaroo. I’m not a cowboy, and neither are you. You’re ruining my whole reputation. If anyone ever found these emails, I’d be a laughingstock. Steve’s already going to bust a rib when he hears about it.**

**Shuri’s still working on finding a solution for the trigger words thing, but I looked at her design for my new arm, and I have to admit, it would be nice to have two hands again. Just think of everything I could do then. I might even be able to do some projects on my own, if we ever get to go back to the farm. It’s a lot nicer than my old one, but that’s not saying much. She wants to do both procedures at once, so I don’t know when that will be, but I’m actually excited to do this. I want to do this.**

**How is Pickles? Is Stark still pretending he doesn’t like cats?**

**Possibly two-handed again soon,**

**Bucky (** **not** **Buckaroo)**

It felt important, somehow, for Bucky to talk through all of Shuri’s ideas with Clint. Bucky sensed some resistance from him whenever he mentioned his new arm, and he wasn’t sure why. If it meant that he could go back to the States and be with Clint, Bucky was ready to do it, but it seemed like Clint had some concerns he hadn’t voiced. Bucky kept bringing it up, hoping he could draw it out of Clint and find out what exactly was making him so nervous, but he’d had no luck so far.

Bucky had also talked about all of this with Steve, and Steve was instantly on board, talking a mile a minute about how maybe he could convince the government to let Bucky come back, under the supervision of the Avengers, after it was all over. Bucky bristled a little at the idea of supervision, but he’d accept it if he had to.

He didn’t hear back from Clint right away, and tried not to overthink that. Clint might be busy, antagonizing Stark or hiding out on the roof. His every moment wasn’t spent thinking about Bucky. That would be ridiculous. 

Before Bucky left the house to find something to distract himself, his screen alerted him to a new video call. He pressed the button to answer it and was startled to see Clint on the other side, running a hand through his messy blonde hair as he paced back and forth in front of the screen.

“Clint?” Bucky said, voice catching in his throat. His eyes were trained on Clint’s bicep, bulging against the sleeve of his shirt.

“Hey,” Clint said, with a wave. “I thought it might be easier to talk this way.”

“Sure,” Bucky agreed. “Something on your mind?”

Clint chuckled softly. “You could say that.”

“What’s going on, Clint?” 

Clint settled onto his couch, folding his legs underneath him and resting his hands on his thighs. He seemed jittery, almost nervous, tapping his fingers against his knees in an erratic rhythm.

“You know how you’re going to do that procedure?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, momentarily distracted by tracing the line of Clint’s strong thighs with his eyes. This was his first time seeing Clint since the farm, and it was hard to stay focused.

“Are you sure you want to?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. He was definitely focused now. “Yes, Clint. I want to.”

“And you’re sure it’s safe?”

“I trust Shuri. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. She knows what she’s doing.”

Clint bit his lip, shaking his head.

“What are you so worried about?” Bucky’s voice came out harsher than he intended, but he really didn’t understand what Clint’s problem was. Couldn’t he tell how excited Bucky was about this? Didn’t that matter to him?

“Oh, I don’t know,” Clint said, frowning as he stood to pace again. “You being under anesthesia and having someone mess with your brain? You being put in this insanely vulnerable position, thousands of miles away from home?”

“I trust Shuri, Clint,” Bucky repeated. “She’s talked me through every step of the process and this is what I want.”

Clint’s face softened slightly. “It is?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, as emphatically as he could. “Doing this procedure might even mean I can come back.”

“What, to the States?”

Bucky nodded and Clint’s eyes widened. “Steve’s working on it. It’s not guaranteed, but if I can prove the words don’t work anymore, I might be able to come back.”

Clint frowned again. “That’s not the only reason you’re doing it, right? Because I think you’re just fine the way you are, and if you feel like you have to change for some assholes in the government who don’t even know you, it’s not worth it.”

“Doing this means I get to be rid of Hydra for good!” Bucky snapped, frustration flaring, and Clint abruptly sat back down on the couch, looking startled. “They don’t get to have any control over any part of me anymore. I get to be my own person. Can’t you see how important that is?”

“Of course I can,” Clint said softly. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’m sorry. I’ve just been thinking about this a lot since you told me about it. I think being stuck in this tower is making me a little stir-crazy.” He sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face. “If this is what you want, and if you trust Shuri to do it, I support you.”

“It’s what I want. I’m doing this, Clint.”

“Then okay. You won’t hear another word of protest from me.” Clint smiled weakly. “It’s good to see you. Wakanda agrees with you.”

Before Bucky could respond, some kind of alert light started flashing behind Clint, who groaned, rolling his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“That means my keepers have come to check up on me. Ross likes to keep very close tabs on what I’m doing.”

“Barton!” Stark’s voice blared through an intercom, not ten seconds later. “I’m not entertaining these suits for you. Get down here before I test out my newest prototype on them.”

“I have to go,” Clint said. “Talk to you soon?” He sounded a little unsure.

“Yeah. Soon.”

Clint shot him a relieved grin and turned off the screen, and Bucky headed out to take a long walk. It wasn’t exactly how Bucky had pictured his first face-to-face conversation with Clint going, but there was no changing it now.

Even though it hadn’t gone exactly as he might have hoped, Bucky was glad they’d talked. Clint needed to know how important this was to Bucky. He was the one who helped Bucky start to understand that it was okay to want things, and deactivating his trigger words was something Bucky wanted more than almost anything. He hoped that Clint understood that now.

It certainly seemed like he did when Clint messaged Bucky two days later, sounding much more like his normal, flirty self than he had in their previous conversation.

_My dear Buckarino (happy now?),_

_I don’t know, I still kind of like the idea of you as a cowboy, riding bucking broncos and rustling cattle with your posse. I definitely like the image of you in a cowboy hat and some tight jeans. Nothing wrong with that._

_I still think you’re just fine the way you are, but if this procedure is what you want, then I completely support you. And I know you don’t need my permission or my approval, but I’m proud of you for saying what you want and going for it. I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way._

_Pickles continues to find new and exciting ways to wrap Tony around his paw. I was looking for a wrench and I found a whole bag of cat treats in the drawer. Tony also definitely built some kind of cat tree in the corner, though he claims it’s shelving for his spare parts. You can’t see me, but I’m rolling my eyes so hard I’m getting a headache._

_What was your favorite thing to do in the summer? The humidity is killing me and I need ideas. Please tell me you and Steve used to strip down and play in the fire hydrants or something. I need something to distract me from being hot and sticky all the time. I mean, just the idea of you half-naked in the street, drenched in water is distracting me pretty well already, but if you have anything else, I’m on board._

_The sweatiest man in New York,_

_Clint_

Bucky swallowed hard after he finished reading. After that last conversation they had, Bucky hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the image of Clint, sweat sticking his shirt to his impressive chest, skin glistening in the light of the sun, was definitely one that Bucky would be coming back to later. 

Bucky hadn’t thought, when he broke free from Hydra’s programming, that he would ever find someone who would even want him. And honestly, his sex drive had been down to almost zero for so long that realizing how badly he wanted to touch Clint was something of a surprise. He’d been thinking about it more and more though, the longer he stayed in Wakanda, the longer he kept writing to Clint, and especially after seeing him on video. He wanted Clint, in every way.

They hadn’t actually talked about what happened, that last night, before Natasha called and the ground shifted beneath their feet, but they’d been flirting for months now, and this last message was just further confirmation that Clint wanted Bucky too.

Before he could think of what he wanted to say in response, the screen flashed again and Bucky saw that he had a video call from Steve. Steve had this almost supernatural ability to know the exact moment to interrupt something Bucky was doing, and his perfect record of butting in continued.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky said, waving at him.

“Hi, Buck. How are you doing?” Steve always asked him that, like he expected the answer to change. 

“Fine. You?”

Steve nodded and shrugged. “I’m good, Buck. Shuri still working on your arm?”

“Yeah, she’s all over it. Should know more soon.”

“Good. That’s real good.” He looked away, and Bucky knew that look.

“What, Steve?”

Steve’s eyes snapped back to focus on the screen and Bucky saw him flush slightly. “Forgot you know all my tells.”

“They’re coming back to me, little by little.”

Steve smiled. “Good, I’m glad.” He cleared his throat. “How soon do you think Shuri can get the procedure done?”

Bucky shrugged. “She’s still working on it, so I don’t know. Why?” 

“I have news.”

“Okay,” Bucky said slowly, trying not to get his hopes up until he knew what kind of news it was. “And?”

“And, as long as we know where you are, and you stay out of trouble, you can come back once we’re sure the trigger words have no effect anymore.”

Bucky blinked at him, heart beating faster now. “Seriously? No supervision from you or anything?”

Steve shook his head, grinning broadly. “I mean, I’ll still keep an eye on you, but not because they told me to.”

Bucky’s smile spread to match Steve’s. “As if I’d let you do that, punk.”

“Jerk.” 

A flash of a moment from long ago, long before all that had happened, when he and Steve had just been two friends trying to find their places in the world, came back to Bucky. He let himself hope, for just a moment, that he could find his way through this. Shuri could help him and he could get back to the life he never got to have.

“So let me know as soon as you know more, and I’ll get things rolling on this end.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

“You got it, buddy.”

When they hung up, Bucky was still smiling. He could go back. He couldn’t remember a thing he had wanted that much in a long time, and it felt so good to know that he could have it. He could have the things he wanted.

First and foremost on that list, he could write back to Clint and move them towards another thing he wanted.

**To my dear, sweaty Clint,**

**Doesn’t Stark have air conditioning? You’d think, for being that rich, he’d splurge on it, but I guess not, huh? We always went to Coney Island and ate a ton of ice cream, so you could maybe do half of that from where you are. Maybe set off the fire alarms so the sprinklers will cool you down. A wet t-shirt can only help.**

**But now, tell me more about this cowboy idea? Can’t say I’ve ever worn a cowboy hat, but I always thought I looked pretty sharp in my military uniform. I wish I could see a picture of you in your circus outfit. Remind me again what that looked like? It’s not hot here, but I could still use the distraction of thinking about you in a skintight costume.**

**How much longer are you stuck there, anyway? Think they might let you have a temporary jailbreak to come visit a very trustworthy former assassin who now herds goats? I can think of some ideas to keep you occupied.**

**Your Coney Island cowboy,**

**Bucky**

After hitting send, Bucky forced himself away from the screen and out to take a walk in the hills. 

One of the best things about living so far away from the city was that he could walk for miles and not see anyone, aside from the odd animal that he startled out of hiding. As much as coming to Wakanda hadn’t been his idea, he was starting to feel more comfortable, and he almost felt sad, thinking of leaving this beautiful place, with these people who had been so welcoming and kind to him.

There was nothing saying he couldn’t come back, he supposed. He would love to show Clint around to all his favorite places, from the bubbling brook just a half-mile from his house to the roaring waterfall that never stopped flowing, even in the driest of dry seasons. The hills and the forests were as much home to Bucky now as any place had ever been, and he wanted to share that with Clint, if Clint wanted that.

He stayed out as long as he could bear, until his need to see if Clint had replied overcame his desire to stay out in the fresh air and stretch his legs. The goats bleated a hello as he returned, and Bucky was pleased to see that the screen was blinking when he stepped inside.

_Can we video chat? It would be great to see your face again._

It was just one line, but it made Bucky freeze for a long moment. After the last message he had sent, and especially after their last video call, Bucky felt a rush of nerves at the idea of actually seeing Clint again.

Before he let the nerves overtake him, he pressed the button to call Clint, the ringing sound feeling extra loud as it rang and rang.

And then it stopped.

“Hello?” Clint was there, blonde hair sticking up in all directions, sleepy grin on his face. Bucky could see his whole room through the wall screen: messy purple comforter on the bed, clothes piled in one corner, several bows propped against the wall behind the door.

“Hey,” Bucky said, leaning closer, as though he could close the distance between them. 

“How are you? How are the goats?” Clint said, but before he could answer, Bucky was distracted by a flash of orange fur that appeared on the screen. Pickles sat up in Clint’s lap, pawing at the image of Bucky, and Bucky felt a deep pang of loneliness. He wanted to be there, with both of them, and he couldn’t. Not yet.

“Bucky?” Clint was watching him, concern in his eyes. “You still there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Mr. and Mrs. Goat are fine. Not much to report. How’s the Tower?”

“Fine.” Clint cleared his throat, looking away from Bucky and down at Pickles. “Boring.”

“Hey, I have some big news.”

“What?” Clint’s eyes went wide.

“You know how I told you that Steve’s been working with the government to find a way for me to come back into the country without being arrested?” Clint nodded. “Well, he just told me today that it’s pretty much a done deal.” 

“So you’d really come back here? To New York?”

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah. Or Iowa. Wherever you are.” No point being coy at this point. He wanted to be with Clint, and he wanted Clint to know that.

Clint froze, staring through the screen so intensely, it was like he was trying to teleport through sheer force of will. Bucky understood the feeling. He wished the serum had given him that power. It would make this whole thing much easier.

“You okay?” Bucky said, and Clint shook his head like a dog shaking off water. His already messy hair just got messier and Pickles meowed, pawing at his face.

“Yeah. That would be great.” A soft smile spread across Clint’s face as he spoke. Bucky had missed that smile, warm and gentle and so very Clint.

“Remind me how long you’re stuck with Stark?”

Clint sighed. “Another year. But if I’m good, Ross might let me walk around the block sometime.” He rolled his eyes, voice dripping with bitterness, and Bucky knew how restless he was feeling. The longer it went on, the more unsettled Clint became. He wasn’t used to staying still this long, and for it to be in a place that wasn’t his, that wasn’t home, had to be even harder.

“Then I guess Iowa will have to wait. I haven’t been back to New York in a long time. Might be nice to see Brooklyn again.”

“Let’s get you through the procedure first,” Clint said. Bucky liked that he was talking about “us,” like they could really do this, once the dust settled and they were in the same place again, instead of thousands of miles apart.

“Shuri’s got it under control.” Bucky wasn’t sure of much, but he was sure of that. He trusted her, which made her part of a very small circle of people that could claim that designation. She had been coming down to visit him regularly and checking in to make sure he was doing okay. Bucky liked her, but even more than that, he respected her and all of her many skills. Shuri wouldn’t say she could help him if she wasn’t sure she could.

“When do you go in?” 

“Soon, I think. Shuri’s supposed to let me know when she’s ready.”

“Let me know. I’ll be here whenever it is.”

“Thanks. I miss you,” Bucky said softly, and Clint smiled again. “A lot.”

“Me too.” Clint looked down at Pickles, then back up at Bucky, something new burning in his eyes. “You know, your last email got me thinking. You mind if I take this off?” He tugged at the hem of his shirt as he spoke. 

Bucky shook his head and watched as Clint slowly peeled his shirt off his torso, humming what he probably thought was a sexy tune while he did it. It was undercut a little when Clint got tangled in his own shirt and nearly toppled over, but only a little.

Bucky shifted a little, wishing he could touch Clint, feel the heat of his skin, trace his tongue right along those ridges between his abs and down to the deep V of his hips. Seeing him like this brought into focus all the thoughts that had been swirling in Bucky’s head for months now, and he had never been more sure that this was what he wanted. Clint was what he wanted. And Clint wanted him too. That was clear.

“Bucky?” Clint said, voice dropping low enough to make Bucky shiver, despite the warm day. “You want to join me?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding slowly, eyes still fixed on Clint’s shoulders as Bucky tugged his shirt over his head. He saw the way Clint’s mouth dropped open a little when Bucky settled back down on the bed, leaning back on his arm.

“What would you want to do if I were there right now?” Clint said, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Bucky’s mouth went dry and he tried to find the words that had just been so vivid in his head. There were so many possibilities and he wanted them all. “I, uh, I’d want to take those pants off you. I’d want to see you.”

“Okay,” Clint said, standing to slowly draw the sweatpants down his legs. Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off Clint’s strong legs as he revealed them, inch by inch. Clint shucked off his boxers too, revealing his cock, already jutting out hard and thick between his thighs. “Fuck, I really wish you were here.”

“Me too,” Bucky said, palming his own erection through his jeans. The pressure of the zipper and the friction of the fabric were going to become a problem if he didn’t take them off soon.

“Come on, Bucky,” Clint mumbled, leaning back on his bed, eyes still half-closed. “Let me see you, too.”

Bucky didn’t hesitate. His jeans and boxers were on the floor in an instant. He loosely grasped his cock, eyes still fixed on Clint as he imagined all the things he wanted to try with Clint.

“Jesus, Bucky,” Clint whispered, eyes now very wide. “Tell me. What would you do if I was there?”

Still watching Clint while he lazily stroked himself, Bucky nearly choked on the words in his eagerness to tell Clint what he wanted. “I’d take you in my mouth.” 

Clint smiled, warm and slow. “Oh yeah?” That smile, combined with the idea of actually being with Clint, drew a low groan out of Bucky and he squeezed roughly, desperate for release.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, gripping his own cock a little harder, gaining confidence as he spoke. “I want to be between your knees, using my mouth on you and listening to all the sounds you make.”

Clint’s grin widened. “That sounds really good, Bucky. You know what I’d do?” Bucky shook his head, feeling the tension of his orgasm building as his rhythm sped up. “Open you up on my fingers and -- use all that good work you did, sucking my cock, to get inside you.”

It had been such a long time since Bucky had touched himself, and seeing Clint, watching him touch himself, talking like this, it was too much for Bucky. He couldn’t hold back, and he didn’t want to. Bucky felt a rush of heat and let out a low groan as he spilled over his hand. 

“Tell me what you want, Bucky,” Clint said, voice strained as his strokes picked up. 

“I want to feel you inside me. I want you to fuck me until I can’t move. I want you, Clint. I want you so badly, however you want.” The words came out in a rush, and Bucky watched as Clint’s hand stuttered around his cock, hips snapping up to meet his grip in a wild rhythm.

A soft cry erupted from Clint as he came, and Bucky kept watching as he stroked himself through it. Eventually, he leaned back, breathing hard.

“I want you too, Bucky,” Clint said, a little sadly. “If I didn’t know for a fact that I’d be sent to the Raft for the rest of my life when they caught me, I’d be on the next plane to Wakanda.”

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, wiping his sticky hand on a towel. “I wish I knew when I was coming back. I’d like to see anyone try to stop me from seeing you whenever I want once I’m back in the country.”

Clint laughed. “You know, I think I’d like to see that too.” He grinned at Bucky. “Call you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding. “Tomorrow.”

Clint saluted and ended the call, and Bucky realized just how fast his heart was beating. He sank back on the mattress and tried to get his breathing under control. 

The screen blinked and Bucky sat up to see that Clint had sent him another message.

_Get ready for round two tomorrow, Buckaroo._

Bucky could definitely get used to this, at least until he got his own mind back for good and got himself back to the States to try everything they both wanted with Clint in person.

* * *

Clint had been a little uneasy when Bucky first mentioned getting a new arm and having Shuri deactivate the trigger words. He mostly just hated the idea of Bucky being helpless and so far away, but Bucky assured him that Shuri knew what she was doing, and if Bucky trusted her, Clint could too.

“The Wakandans are good people,” Steve said, when Clint brought it up to him in a phone call. “They’ll take care of Bucky.”

“You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t have left him there if I wasn’t. Same as when I left him with you.”

Bucky kept Clint pretty distracted anyway, with plenty more video calls that sometimes devolved into messy masturbation sessions and dirty talk, but other times, just stayed at talking about their days. Clint liked talking to Bucky. He’d always liked talking to Bucky. It was just an added bonus that now he had a full repertoire of ideas for what he’d do when, and if, they finally managed to get back to the same location.

On the day of his procedure, Clint couldn’t talk to Bucky, since Princess Shuri had insisted that the process would likely take several hours. They had talked nearly every day since they started using video to get even closer to each other, so it was weird not to hear from Bucky. It scared Clint a little, how much he struggled with not being able to talk to Bucky for just one day. He couldn’t shake the feeling, deep in his gut, that something was going to go wrong. He knew it was irrational, but Clint didn’t usually get what he wanted, and he hadn’t wanted anything in a long time as much as he wanted Bucky.

So, Clint paced. In his room, down the hall, around the corridors of the Tower, over and over again, until Tony finally made him stop.

“You’re driving me nuts, Barton. What’s going on?”

Clint sighed. “Bucky has his procedure today. I haven’t heard anything yet.”

“I’m sure Robocop will be just fine. Isn’t he a super soldier?” There was an edge of bitterness in Tony’s voice, and Clint knew he really shouldn’t be looking for comfort from Tony right now, but he had no one else to talk to. 

“Yes,” Clint said, rolling his eyes, “but he’s also alone there, and I don’t know, I’m just a little worried.”

Tony’s face softened a tiny amount. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. Until we know for sure, can you at least stop walking back and forth past my lab door? It’s very distracting. Go shoot some arrows or something.”

Clint took Tony’s advice and headed down to the shooting range. He had the computer set up some basic moving targets and got to work, firing arrow after arrow into each bullseye until he was sore and a little sweaty. The rhythm of it was soothing and Clint felt his tension ebbing away with each shot.

When he felt slightly more relaxed, Clint headed back to his room, flopping onto the couch. Pickles jumped into his lap just as the screen on the wall flashed and buzzed to signal an incoming video call. Fumbling for the remote, Clint dropped it and it bounced under the couch. He stretched to reach it without dislodging Pickles, but couldn’t quite do it. 

The screen was on its last ring when he finally managed to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Agent Barton?” a clipped voice said. Clint couldn’t see who was speaking, just the ceiling of what looked like a lab. A hospital.

“Who is this?” Clint said, trying to keep himself calm. Anxiety and excitement were battling in his chest at the moment, and he needed to keep his shit together.

“Princess Shuri. The procedure went well. Full success.” Clint let out a long breath. That was good news. 

“Can I see him?” It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her; he just really wanted to see Bucky.

“Sergeant Barnes is insisting on it. Please be careful, he is still recovering.”

The screen shifted and there was Bucky, looking pale and tired on a hospital bed. His hair was matted with sweat and his eyes were closed.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri said, and his eyes fluttered open. “Agent Barton wishes to speak to you.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said, voice low and hoarse. “Hey, Clint.”

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Bucky said, but he was smiling.

“You look it,” Clint said, and Bucky huffed out a laugh.

“Thanks.” Bucky sighed, looking down at his left side, smile fading. “I can’t believe it’s over.”

“Yeah, I bet. You okay?”

Bucky shrugged. “Mostly I’m glad it’s done. Now I can come home.”

Clint’s heart jumped to his throat. “You really mean that?”

“I mean, I have to stay here for a bit, make sure everything’s working properly and the words aren’t an issue anymore, but Steve said he’s worked things out and I can come back as soon as I’m in good working order.”

Clint smiled gently. “That will be nice.”

“Can’t stay with you, obviously, but we’ll figure something out.” We. He said we. Clint wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that, no matter how often Bucky said it. “Clint? You still there?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m here. Just thinking about how annoyed Tony will be when I find a way to sneak out to see you.”

Bucky laughed, but it turned into a cough. When he collected himself again, he was blushing. “I’m sure we’ll find all kinds of ways to annoy Stark.”

“Looking forward to it.”

And he was. Clint still couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong, because it seemed like something always did, but the worst was over. Bucky could leave whenever he was ready, and he was going to come back to Clint. Clint could hold onto that until Bucky was here, back with him for real.

Maybe Clint could have what he wanted. Maybe they both could.

* * *

“He’s gone,” Steve said, voice low and hollow. “Bucky’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today marks exactly five months since I first mentioned to [tellthemyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellthemyes/profile) ([quandjebois](https://quandjebois.tumblr.com/) on tumblr) that I had a vague notion of a fic about Clint and Bucky finding each other before Infinity War and then finding their way back again. I’m so delighted to contribute this to the Big Bang, and I can’t wait to actually have time to read the other fics people have been posting. This fic was such a labor of love and it stretched me far beyond what I thought I was capable of. When I say I couldn’t have done it without tellthemyes, I mean it. Thank you for continuing to be just the best and for all the time and energy you put into this fic right alongside me. 💖
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this first part, and I’ll be posting the second part next Monday. Comments and kudos are always so very appreciated, and please send so much love to [quicksillver](https://quicksillver.tumblr.com/), who created some incredible artwork for the fic (linked below)!


	2. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking down, he saw blood on his hands. When he looked up again, he was looking right at one of the other super soldiers, out in Siberia. Adrenaline flooded through Bucky. He knew what these people could do, and his fists clenched, preparing for the attack that he knew would come.
> 
> “Bucky?” Clint’s voice cut through the image in front of Bucky, and he felt a little dizzy as reality snapped back into place. “Are you okay?”
> 
> The edges of Bucky’s vision went dark and he tried to shake his head in response before he collapsed.

It was strange, coming back from the dead.

No, not the dead. The vanished. 

One moment, Bucky had been running towards Steve, who had stupidly gone after Thanos himself, and the next, he was running through a fiery portal to fight Thanos again. To Bucky, it had been a blink of an eye. To everyone else, it had been five years.

Five more years had slipped through his hands. Five more years that Bucky had missed, not because he was under cryo-freeze or because he was electrocuted out of his own mind and forced to do horrific things to people he didn’t know and wouldn’t remember, but because he just wasn’t there.

Emerging back onto that battlefield hadn’t been a surprise, exactly. It had looked just like the place he’d left: scorched ground, metallic tang of blood in the air, bodies lying in heaps all around him. But something had felt different, slightly off balance, like something wasn’t quite right about his being there.

Since the compound upstate had been completely destroyed in the final battle, after Tony’s funeral several of the remaining Avengers relocated to the Tower. There was plenty of room there for all of them to heal, to recover. 

It was hard, trying to adjust, and Bucky knew he wasn’t handling it well. His memories had started to come back, all at once, filling in gaps he’d thought would be there forever, piling on top of each other until he could hardly keep them all straight.

Steve wasn’t around, had left for Washington almost as soon as they got back to work on big, important issues that had come up over the last five years. And Bucky wasn’t sure how to reach out to Clint when he was busy with Natasha, doing whatever they could to keep the peace now that everyone was back. 

And the memories kept coming. Seventy years of Bucky’s life that he thought had been wiped away, flooding his mind and all of his senses until he thought he might drown. Sometimes, it was hard to keep track of what was happening now and what had actually happened before. Everything was all jumbled together and he had no idea how to sort it out.

He woke up in the bunker where Hydra used to keep him between missions. Blinking slowly, Bucky tried to remember what had happened before he went to sleep. He thought he’d been in the Tower, in the room he’d picked out when they moved in after the battle.

But what he saw in front of him were the damp cinderblock walls that nearly always surrounded him when he woke up from cryosleep. Bucky’s heart began to race and he felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. He was out. He was. He’d been in New York. Or was it Wakanda? Iowa, maybe?

Shaking his head, he tried to figure out what was going on. He had memories of things other than this, memories after this. 

He did. 

He thought he did.

One of his handlers started reading out the words, and Bucky strained against his restraints, gritting his teeth until his jaw hurt. He couldn’t move. He was trapped. He felt the scream vibrating through him more than he heard it. He knew it would only be seconds until he was under their control again.

A scream came from somewhere else and Bucky lashed out at the doctors in front of him. They vanished, and Bucky’s fist made contact with the wall beside his bed. Wincing, he rubbed his knuckles as the cinderblock walls faded away.

There was a second shout, this time followed by a loud thud. Bucky stood and hurried to the door, peering out into the hallway. No one was there. Sam’s room was next door, and Bucky crept toward it, adrenaline from his dream still pulsing through him, making him hyper-alert.

Before he could reach the door, it opened in front of him. Sam stepped back, eyes wide.

“Bucky? What are you doing?” His voice was rough, and Bucky saw that he was breathing hard. He looked over Bucky’s shoulder, like he expected to see someone else behind him.

“Are you okay? I heard a noise.”

Sam’s shoulders sank as he let out a long sigh, running a hand over his face. “Yeah.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, man. Something’s bringing up all these memories I thought I’d processed -- from before, you know?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I know what you mean.” He shifted his weight, the panic ebbing out of him and leaving his limbs feeling heavy and slow. “Want some coffee?”

Sam shrugged, but followed Bucky to the kitchen. He sank into one of the stools, looking as wrung out as Bucky felt. His head fell to the counter, and Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. He slid a mug of coffee over to Sam, who lifted his head to take a long drink before sighing again.

“You want to talk about it?” Bucky asked, sitting beside him with his own mug. 

Sam shrugged. “I mean, it’s fucked up, right? I come back and my head’s a mess all over again. I thought I was past this. I was past this. I did therapy and all that. This isn’t supposed to still be a problem.”

“What happened? What did you see?”

“My partner, Riley, getting shot out of the sky. Never even got the chance to save him.” He looked down at his coffee. “I hate this.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “I, uh, was in the middle of a memory, too, when I heard you and woke up.”

“What’d you see?” 

“The bunker where they kept me,” Bucky said quietly. “And they said the words.” Sam frowned. “I know Shuri deactivated the words, but I couldn’t remember where I was supposed to be. It felt real. I thought I was back there, like I never actually got away and Hydra still had me. Like everything that happened afterwards was just a dream and that was what was real.”

“Shit,” Sam breathed. “One of my buddies at the VA mentioned that people are struggling with this kind of thing, but I haven’t looked into it. Maybe I should.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Bucky hadn’t really considered that other people might be dealing with this too. The rest of the people in the Tower hadn’t been snapped, so there wasn’t really anyone else to ask, but Bucky wondered if there was something to that idea, like coming back had scrambled them all somehow.

Sam looked thoughtful, staring down the dark hallway like it might hold some kind of answer. “You ever think about going to therapy?”

Bucky shrugged again. “Not really. Never done it before.” Bucky was pretty sure that therapy meant a middle-aged guy with wireframe glasses humming and taking notes on a clipboard while Bucky lay on a couch, talking about whatever came into his head. He wasn’t sure how that could help.

Sam nodded. “I get that. I only went before because somebody at the VA pushed me to do it, but it really helped with my nightmares and the flashbacks.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Think I’m going to start again. I have to get this under control somehow.” Draining his coffee, he stood. 

Bucky blinked at him. “Yeah, maybe.” He couldn’t imagine what they could do to him in therapy that would get these memories back where they belonged, aside from electrocuting him again. And he wasn’t about to let anyone mess with his head like that again if he could help it.

* * *

The next time it happened, it was different. He wasn’t even sleeping, but the images flashed to the front of his mind all the same. This time, he was back in Brooklyn, with his sisters, with his ma. The air was full of the scent of cinnamon and apples, and he breathed it in, feeling calmer than he had for days. 

Bucky’s youngest sisters ran by him, chasing each other through the house with squeals of laughter. He was a young man again, and when he looked down, both his hands were flesh and bone.

“James, can you set the table?” Ma said. 

Just as he reached her, holding out his hands to take the stack of plates she held out to him, she vanished in a cloud of ash.

She was replaced by Clint, dozing on the couch, Pickles curled up beside him. Bucky reached for him instead, to touch his hair, to feel his skin.

But before he could quite touch him, Bucky stumbled and Clint vanished, too. Bucky was alone. He sank onto his couch and curled in on himself, waiting for the next wave of memories to hit him.

When they didn’t, he tried to breathe and remember that this was real. He was in the Tower with everyone else. But Bucky wasn’t sure how long it would last, before his memories took over again. The good memories were almost more terrifying than the bad ones. Bucky wanted to get lost in them, because they felt better than this lonely life he had found since coming back. That scared him. If he lost track of reality entirely, he wasn’t sure what he’d do or who could help him.

Bucky decided to keep to himself as much as he could. He could never predict when a memory would come back, or what kind of memory it would be, and he didn’t want to hurt anyone accidentally. It was safer to stay away from everyone, at least until he got this under control. He had what he needed in his room, anyway, so it wasn’t hard to keep out of sight most of the time. Bucky had spent enough years eating just enough to survive that hunger hardly bothered him, but when he got hungry enough, he’d creep out of his room in the middle of the night to scavenge for whatever he could find in the kitchen.

Bucky was poking through the cabinets when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He instantly tensed, turning to face whoever was there. 

“Hey,” Clint said, smiling brightly. Bucky had missed that smile.

“Hi,” Bucky said, feeling his cheeks flush. It was the first time he’d seen Clint since coming back and Clint had caught him rummaging through the supplies in the dark like some kind of thief.

“Can’t sleep?” Clint said, moving to the coffee maker to brew some. He crossed his ankles over each other as he leaned back against the counter, long legs extended out in front of him.

Bucky shook his head, replacing the box of granola bars he’d been considering and closing the cabinet. Clint didn’t even seem to notice, eyes fixed on Bucky’s.

“You doing okay?”

“I guess,” Bucky mumbled. “It’s just -- my memories. They’re coming back, but I don’t know. It’s a lot.”

Clint nodded. “I heard that’s part of it. A lot of people who came back are dealing with that. Can I help? Like at the farm?”

Bucky shrugged, looking down at his bare feet. “I don’t know. It’s different than before. It feels like all the memories are back, but they’re out of order or something. They pop up when I don’t expect it.”

“What do you mean? Like, they come to mind?”

“No,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “They take over. It’s like I’m back there, wherever I was when it happened.”

“Shit,” Clint said, frowning. “So you see it all again?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded, lifting his head to see the concern in Clint’s eyes. “Sometimes it’s Brooklyn, with my ma or Steve. Sometimes it’s Hydra. Sometimes it’s both, right after each other.” A sharp pain stabbed at the center of his forehead and Bucky blinked hard. 

Looking down, he saw blood on his hands. When he looked up again, he was looking right at one of the other super soldiers, out in Siberia. Adrenaline flooded through Bucky. He knew what these people could do, and his fists clenched, preparing for the attack that he knew would come.

“Bucky?” Clint’s voice cut through the image in front of Bucky, and he felt a little dizzy as reality snapped back into place. “Are you okay?”

The edges of Bucky’s vision went dark and he tried to shake his head in response before he collapsed. He wasn’t sure if he managed it.

When he woke up, he was tucked into his bed, a glass of water and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the table next to him. Bucky groaned, head pounding. He didn’t remember coming back to his room and realized with a jolt that Clint must have carried him. When he stretched out, his hand hit something soft, and he looked down to see Pickles curled up at his side, blinking up at him.

Stroking Pickles with one hand, Bucky reached over for the glass of water and forced himself to sit up to drink it. Next to the plate was a stack of papers with a note on top. There were envelopes, but under those, Clint had printed out every email they’d sent to each other while Bucky was in Wakanda. The note on top of the whole pile was written in messy, spiky handwriting.

_ Thought these might help. - Clint _

Opening the first envelope, Bucky realized that they were letters Clint must have written while Bucky was vanished. He’d apparently written to Bucky for years, telling him all about what had happened while Bucky was gone. As he read, Bucky could feel the desperation and the pain Clint had felt when he thought they weren’t going to be able to reverse what happened.

Bucky was in the middle of reading one from a few years after the Snap when his mind shifted again. Bucky looked up and Steve was there, looking as small and frail as Bucky remembered. His nose was bleeding, the skin around his eye already darkening into a purple bruise.

“I had to, Buck. He was trying to mug a lady.”

“You couldn’t call the cops?” Bucky said, half-laughing because he already knew the answer.

Steve shook his head, and as he did, he transformed into someone much taller, with a star on his chest and a shield that made him look like some kind of action hero. Bucky felt the restriction of a mask on his face and tried to tear it off, but he couldn’t. It was suffocating him. He clawed at his face, desperate to breathe, desperate to be free, but nothing worked.

Pickles jumped into his lap with a sharp meow, and Bucky could breathe again, mask disappearing instantly. He took several deep breaths, lungs on fire. His stomach was churning with the sharp fear of being back under Hydra’s control and he leaned back against the headboard, wiping cold sweat from his forehead.

Bucky spent the next few days floating in and out of his memories. Some of them were good, like his family and Shuri and Clint and Pickles, and some of them made Bucky sick. He didn’t want to think about those ones any more than he had to. He hated that his mind was making him remember. It was only getting worse.

Bucky periodically heard knocks at the door, but he was too lost in the flow of memories to answer it. Every time he managed to get the door open, usually hours after the knock, he’d find fruit or sandwiches or granola bars waiting for him. There was never a note, but Bucky knew it had to be Clint. Bucky wanted to catch him and actually talk, maybe thank him for his help, but he just couldn’t seem to pull himself out of the memories long enough to track him down.

Finally, after what must have been at least three days of Bucky locking himself in his room, someone pounded on his door, harder than usual. Bucky was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to will himself not to fall into the memories again. He wasn’t sure the last time he’d slept and his body felt heavy, too heavy to move.

“Come on, man. Let me in,” Sam said. When Bucky didn’t come to the door, he knocked again.

“I’m fine,” Bucky managed to croak, but he wasn’t sure if Sam could hear him. His throat was dry and he realized that he hadn’t actually spoken to anyone in days. He couldn’t remember the last time he drank anything.

Before he could try again, Sam had slammed the door open, barrelling into the room. Bucky sat up, unsure if this was real or if it was a new wrinkle of whatever was happening with his brain.

“Come on,” Sam said, sliding an arm around Bucky’s shoulder. “We’re getting you some help.”

Help, it turned out, was a therapist named Dr. Moore. She was a middle-aged woman with curly dark hair and glasses that slid down her nose when she talked. Bucky focused on that for their whole first session, which he supposed was not the point, but he didn’t know how to go to therapy. At least her glasses gave him something to focus on besides the memories that kept shuffling in his head.

Sam came with him the first few times, which Bucky appreciated. And he found that he didn’t mind going to therapy. He still wasn’t convinced it could completely help him with all the shit going on in his head, but he had to do something.

After a few weeks, Bucky decided he could start going on his own, so he followed the same route Sam had shown him to get to Dr. Moore’s office. The routine of it was nice, and he hadn’t been outside much since coming back. He tried to focus on the feeling of the sun on his skin and the sound of the birds he could hear in the park across the street, but as the Tower disappeared behind him, Bucky felt his skin prickling.

Instead of the bright street that had just been in front of him, he was in an underground lab. Hydra scientists were poking and prodding at him, attaching a metal arm to his body with no regard for his pain, ignoring him as he screamed.

Bucky stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk and the falling sensation jolted him back to reality. He slammed to the pavement with a grunt, hands scraping against the rough ground. Several people were staring at him, and one brave woman stepped forward to help him up, but he waved her off. He didn’t want anyone to touch him right now. He needed to get inside, away from all these civilians before another memory showed up.

Bucky made it back to the Tower and was headed back to his room, when he bumped into Clint leaving the kitchen with a mug of coffee. Coffee sloshed out of the cup and onto the floor, but Clint didn’t seem to care.

“Bucky? You okay?”

Bucky shook his head, feeling jittery and exhausted at the same time. “No. I’m not.”

* * *

_ Hey Bucky, _

_ It feels weird to do this, but my therapist said it might help to feel like I can still connect to you. I tried calling the other day, but you obviously weren’t there to answer. _

_ I just feel so lost, you know? Empty, like everything good about me has been torn out and all that’s left is the hollow husk of whoever I am without all of you. Especially you. You made me feel like I was worth something, good for something, in a way that no one has before, not even Natasha. To know that you were about to come back to be with me in the city, that we were going to be something, it kills me, Bucky. _

_ I wish it could have been me who disappeared. You’d move on. You’d be fine. I’m not fine, Bucky. I’m really not. I want to be. I feel like it’s such a waste for me to still be here and all those other people to be gone. For you to be gone.  _

_ So I keep trying to be strong, find things to do, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I shouldn’t be here. I wish I wasn’t.  _

_ God, I miss you, _

_ Clint _

* * *

Clint walked Bucky back to his room, watching as his chest rose and fell rapidly. Bucky’s eyes were wild, terrified. He sank down on his couch with a groan, one arm falling over his face as he leaned back into the cushions.

Clint hadn’t been in Bucky’s room at all since they’d all moved into the Tower, except to carry him to bed after he collapsed in the kitchen that one night. Bucky had been keeping to himself, and Clint had tried to respect that, as much as he wanted to be there to help if he could. Clint had stayed until Bucky’s breathing leveled out and his eyes fluttered open for a second, though he would have stayed all night if he had to. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so scared, heart thundering against his ribs as he waited for Bucky to regain consciousness. He didn’t stay long enough for Bucky to wake up completely, but at least he knew he was going to be okay.

It was dim in the room now, curtains pulled tightly down across the windows and lights on low, and Clint saw the stack of letters on Bucky’s nightstand, right where he’d left them. Clint’s heart clenched in his chest and he wondered if Bucky had read them, if they’d helped, before he remembered why he was here.

Perching on the edge of the coffee table, Clint leaned towards Bucky. “What happened?”

Bucky shook his head, letting out a pained sound as his arm fell away from his face. “I freaked out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was on my way to therapy,” Bucky said, frowning deeply. He wouldn’t look at Clint. “I knew the way and I thought I could do it on my own.” Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “I remembered them attaching my arm.”

“Hydra?”

Bucky nodded, staring down at the floor. “I was right back there, pain and screaming and everything.”

“How’d you come out of it?” Bucky’s eyes had glazed over when he went into that memory in the kitchen, and he hadn’t seemed aware it was happening until Clint said his name. Clint was glad he hadn’t collapsed on the street while he was out there alone.

“I tripped. Fell right there on the sidewalk. Someone tried to help me up, but I just had to get back here before it happened again.” His blue eyes finally met Clint’s and Clint felt his heart shatter at the loss and the fear behind those eyes. “What am I going to do?”

“What do you want to do?” Clint asked, considering whether or not to reach for Bucky. He was curled in on himself, and Clint wanted to hold him, tell him everything was going to be okay. He just wasn’t sure if he could do that anymore. Clint clenched his hands into fists before they got him into trouble.

“I want to not have this happen anymore. I’m tired, Clint.”

“Is therapy helping at least?”

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s been a couple of weeks, and I can’t tell if it’s helping or just bringing up more shit.” He swallowed. “I just want it to stop.”

“Is it just the bad memories coming back? Like a PTSD thing?” Clint knew a little about the memory dump that everyone seemed to be experiencing after coming back from the Snap, but the details of how it all worked were still pretty unclear.

Bucky shook his head. “I remember everything, Clint. I remember my ma, my sisters, Steve. I remember the farm, and Wakanda, and all the things we said to each other.” His eyes were searing into Clint now. “It’s all there, but it’s like different pieces show up out of order and I can’t keep them straight.”

Clint could feel his heart thumping against his ribs and he took a deep breath before responding. “What if we went back to the farm? That...we...it seemed to help before. Maybe it could help again.”

“That sounds nice,” Bucky said, smiling sadly. 

“Then let’s go. I’ll drive.” Clint was halfway to his feet already, but Bucky shook his head. 

“Clint, I’m in no kind of shape to be that person right now.”

“Of course,” Clint said. “That makes sense.”

“I just need some time to figure all of this out.”

“Okay.” Whatever Bucky wanted, Clint would give him. “I’m your friend, Bucky. I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks, Clint.” Bucky mumbled, and Clint stood to leave.

“Seriously, I’m just down the hall. You need anything, a bad joke, a TV recommendation, a friendly shooting competition, I’m there.”

Hearing the soft chuckle from Bucky felt like a victory and Clint figured that meant he was feeling at least a little better. 

It wasn’t until he was back in his room that Clint let himself crumble, just a little. Bucky seemed so lost, so shattered, it was like going back to when Bucky first arrived at the farm. Clint desperately wanted to help. He wanted to pull Bucky into a hug and never let go of him, honestly. He’d hoped that things would be better, after everyone came back, but this was almost worse.

No matter how awful it had been for Bucky to disappear, somehow this seemed crueler. Bucky was here, but his mind wasn’t. After all his decades of being under someone else’s control, Clint could only imagine how frustrating it had to be for Bucky to still not be in control of his own mind.

“You’re distracted,” Nat said, smirking at him from across the table a few hours later. They were about to meet with the mayor to figure out where the Avengers fit into the new landscape of the city, and Clint needed to be on his game, but she was right. He wasn’t.

“I’m fine. You always do all the talking, anyway,” he said, poking at her. She dodged him with a grin, just as the door opened.

By the time the meeting was over, Clint was exhausted, but they’d at least made it clear that the city could call them if they needed help with very specific situations. Otherwise, the Avengers were going to manage themselves. After everything that had happened, no one was terribly inclined to say no to that.

“Let’s get some pizza,” Nat said, grabbing Clint’s hand to drag him along with her. As if he’d ever say no to pizza.

She led him to their favorite place in Brooklyn, a little hole-in-the-wall spot that had the best sauce in the city, and ordered the house special.

“Been a while since we did this,” Clint said, through a mouthful of pizza.

“How are you?” Nat said, studying him carefully. Clint sometimes had a sneaking suspicion that she had x-ray vision and had just never told anyone. This was one of those times.

“Fine. The mayor seemed nice.”

Nat rolled her eyes. “Not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I mean, how are  _ you _ ?”

“I’m fine,” Clint insisted. Nat sniffed, and Clint shook his head. “I am. Or I will be.”

“Oh?” One perfectly manicured eyebrow arched and Clint sighed. 

“He needs space. I’m giving him space. It’s a lot, coming back from being vanished out of existence. He’s trying to figure it out.”

Nat nodded, pursing her lips. “And if he decides he still needs space after he figures it out?”

Clint’s chest clenched unpleasantly at the thought, but he shook his head. “Then that’s okay. It’s been a long time. I’ll live.”

Nat rested a hand on Clint’s, staring through him again. “You will.”

Clint thought about their conversation as he lay in bed that night. He hadn’t expected this to be so hard, adjusting to having everyone back. Having Bucky back.

He’d spent five years working alongside Nat and Steve, trying to keep the peace in the chaos that reigned after Thanos got his wish. It had been exhausting, but it had kept them busy, and some days, that was all he could ask for. It was hard to feel lonely when you were so tired your bones ached, and Clint chased away the grief with as much activity as he could. There was plenty to do, in those years.

Eventually, he’d accepted it to some degree. After a couple of years, it didn’t seem likely that they were going to figure out how to bring everyone back, and Clint had found a way to live with that. He’d filled the hole that Bucky had left with missions and his friends and that was almost enough.

Now, Bucky was back, but he wasn’t the same Bucky. Or he was. This Bucky was lost and scared, just like the one that had showed up at Clint’s farm forever ago. But this time he didn’t want Clint’s help, at least not right now. And that was okay, really. Bucky needed to process whatever was happening with him in a way that made sense to him. 

Clint had to stop thinking about it all the time though, so he used his favorite strategy and threw himself into whatever he could find to keep himself busy. It was easier to pretend he wasn’t hurting if he had something else to do, so he found whatever he could. Mostly, that meant helping Natasha with whatever she was working on, but sometimes it meant running laps around the tower until his legs were exhausted and his entire body was slick with sweat. He used to do that when it was just him and Tony, and it still mostly worked to take his mind off things.

He nearly steamrolled over Sam on one of his runs, and stumbled to a stop after Sam jumped out of the way to avoid him.

“Sorry,” Clint panted, folding over to rest his hands on his knees. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, sounding like he was holding back a laugh. “What are you doing?”

“I hate treadmills.” Clint shrugged. “And running outside means dodging people and traffic, so I’d much rather run inside, where it’s climate-controlled and the floor is level.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure.”

“You know, you may be onto something,” Sam said, when they had made it around the building for a third time, throwing in some stairs for the extra workout. 

“I’m smarter than people think,” Clint said with a grin. “How are you doing with everything?”

Sam shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Going kind of nuts being stuck in this tower, but it could be worse.”

“You having any memory stuff?”

“Yeah, and it sucks. Thanos really fucked us up.”

Clint grunted in agreement. If he could, Clint would find a way to destroy Thanos again, and he’d find a way to do it that would be much more painful than just vanishing him.

“Mostly, I just miss being out there, you know? Being an Avenger and all that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, pulling up to take a break. “It felt good, helping people like that. I want to be out there, flying again.”

“So why don’t you join us? We could really use somebody with your skills.” 

Sam shook his head. “Not until I’m sure these memories aren’t going to pop up at a bad time and put you guys at risk. I’m working on it, though.”

“Well, whenever you’re ready, I know we’d be happy to have you.”

“Thanks, man.” Sam clapped a hand on Clint’s shoulder and headed back to his room. Clint knew he should do the same. He desperately needed a shower.

Before he could get there, his phone beeped with an Avengers alert. They used to be building-wide alarms, but since only Natasha and Clint were responding to calls anyway, it had seemed silly to startle the whole building every time something came up, especially with everything Bucky and Sam were working through.

“Why are you sweaty?” Nat asked, wrinkling her nose when Clint slid into the passenger seat, still breathing hard.

“Just drive,” he said, scowling at her.

It turned out to be a pretty basic case of someone’s kids fixing up some drones they’d found in a pile of scraps and terrorizing the neighbors into notifying the authorities. After Thanos, tensions were high everywhere, and most of the calls they got these days were pretty simple disputes like this. It seemed like everyone was ready to fight at the drop of the hat and sometimes, things escalated. Thankfully, they were able to resolve this one pretty easily, but sometimes they weren’t so lucky.

Even though the call was a complete waste of their time, Clint was laughing by the time they got back to the car. 

“I like those kids. We should have gotten their names to recruit them.”

“You would.” Nat rolled her eyes. “They’re menaces, just like you.”

“Exactly! Who wouldn’t want more mes on the team?”

Nat raised her hand and Clint swatted at her. She dodged him, somehow managing to keep the car on the road at the same time. Damn spy reflexes. 

Clint flicked on the radio, ignoring Nat’s scoff when he landed on a particularly obnoxious pop song. He knew about half the words, so he mumbled along with it, bobbing his head in time with the beat.

“Hey, are you doing okay?” Nat asked when the song was over, sounding a little more serious. Her eyes flicked over to Clint and he shrugged.

“Yeah. Fine. Don’t I seem fine?”

“I guess. But you also compartmentalize better than anyone I know.”

“Besides you,” Clint said, grinning, as if to show her how okay he was.

“Clint,” Nat said, scowling at him. “I’m serious.”

“I know. I’m fine. Promise.”

“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t sound convinced. Clint couldn’t blame her. He knew from experience that his attempt to ignore his own feelings could only work for so long, but as long as it was still working, why not keep doing it? 

“Movie later?” he asked, hoping she’d let him change the subject. 

Nat nodded. “Of course.”

They had a standing movie date after every mission, no matter how easy or straightforward. In the five years after the Snap, it was one of the things that kept Clint from losing it completely. He had a feeling Nat felt the same way. The movies varied, but the routine gave Clint a sense of normalcy that he found he still craved.

“Meet me in the lounge later,” Nat said, heading for her room as soon as they got inside. Clint shot finger guns back at her and she chuckled, shaking her head.

“What’s in the lounge?” Sam said, from behind Clint.

“We’re watching a movie. Want to come?”

“What’s the movie?”

“No idea. With Nat, it could be anything from the goriest horror to the weirdest indie.”

Sam grinned. “I’m good with either of those.”

When Clint got back to the lounge after taking a hot shower, Sam and Nat were already there, settled in on the couch. Nat was leaning towards Sam as they talked, warm smile on her face. She flipped her hair over his shoulder, laughing softly at something Sam said, and Clint had known her long enough to know what Nat looked like when she was flirting.

“What are we watching tonight?” Clint asked from the doorway, smirking at the two of them when they startled away from each other. 

“Still deciding. Are you feeling violence tonight, or romance?”

“Oh, romance, definitely.” Clint winked at Nat and she shot him a glare that he knew was meant to scare him, but he knew her too well for that. Besides, Clint figured that more violence was the last thing any of them needed, even if it was a movie. It was just a bonus that he could tease Nat at the same time.

“Then can you make the popcorn?” she said, in her sweetest and deadliest voice.

“Sure thing,” Clint said, giving her a thumbs up before retreating to the kitchen. Bucky was there when he came in, rifling through the fridge with a frown on his face. “Hey, Bucky.”

“Hi,” he said, straightening instantly.

“You want to come watch a movie with us? I don’t know what it is, but it should be fun.”

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine,” Clint said, holding up his hands. 

He started the popcorn in the microwave, listening to the kernels popping against the bag. He assumed Bucky had already left to hole up in his room again, but when the microwave dinged and he pulled out the bag to dump it into the bowl, Bucky held it out to him.

“Okay.”

Clint grinned. “Okay.” 

Bucky sank into one of the armchairs close to the door and Clint mirrored him, choosing one on the other side of the room. He figured it was best to leave the couch to Nat and Sam, who were definitely sitting closer to each other than they had been when he left the room.

By the time the movie ended, Bucky was hugging a pillow against his chest as he leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t smiling, exactly, but he looked relaxed, at ease, in a way Clint hadn’t seen in a long time. When the credits started rolling though, Bucky blinked, pushed the pillow to the side and left the room without a word. Clint was tempted to follow him to make sure he was alright, but Bucky had asked for time to figure this out. Clint could give him that.

Sam had stretched an arm along the back of the couch behind Nat, and she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to move. Clint cleared his throat loudly, picking up the now-empty popcorn bowl and saluting them both.

“Have fun, kids,” he said, heading for his own room. Natasha shot him another death-glare, which Clint ignored, whistling all the way down the hall.

* * *

“So, Sam Wilson, huh?” he said, nudging Nat when she sat down beside him at breakfast the next morning. Clint hadn’t slept, for the second night in a row, but he had enough energy to tease Nat. He always had energy for that. 

“I am not discussing this with you,” she sniffed, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Oh, right, right. A lady never kisses and tells.”

“I swear to god, Barton, I will murder you in your sleep if you don’t shut up.”

“But then who will be your wingman?” Clint said, grinning.

“Literally anyone else,” Nat said drily.

Before Clint could respond, Sam and Bucky came into the kitchen. Bucky was frowning a bit, not making eye contact with either of them as he got his breakfast. 

“Morning, guys,” Sam said brightly.

Clint heard Nat say something in response, but he was watching Bucky, who was squinting in the sunlight that was pouring in through the windows. He sat next to Clint, apparently determined to eat his cereal as fast as he could. His shoulders were stiff, brow furrowed, but at least he was out of his room again. That felt like progress.

“What did you think of the movie, Bucky?” Nat said, and Bucky’s head jerked up, face softening a bit. His eyes darted from Nat’s face to the windows to Clint and back down to his bowl.

“Oh, um, it was fine, I guess.”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Bucky said, swallowing hard. “What have you guys been up to?” 

“Just helping out where we can,” Natasha said, nudging Clint. She was watching both of them carefully, and her elbow dug painfully into Clint’s ribs. “Why don’t you tell him about it, Clint?”

Clint’s eyes narrowed as he twisted away from her. He should have known he’d pay for all that wingman talk, even though this was not even remotely the same thing. “I don’t know what else there is to say. Steve’s doing the hard job, schmoozing the bigwigs down in Washington. We’re mostly just taking care of the little stuff that comes up around here.”

“Like what?” Sam asked, leaning against the counter with his mug of coffee.

“Well, yesterday, we had to take down some rogue drones that were being flown by a couple of kids. Super dangerous Avenger business,” Clint said, using his most dramatic voice. Sam laughed, and a hint of a smile brightened Bucky’s face.

“Sometimes it’s bigger than that. Just not recently. And that’s okay. I’m exhausted from the last couple of years. I could use the break,” Nat said. “It’s mostly that everyone is really on edge after everything that happened with Thanos and needs to readjust.”

Sam nodded, looking thoughtfully at Nat. “I was just talking to Bucky about maybe starting a group for people who came back. Maybe you could walk me through some of what’s going on out there now and what happened before.”

“Sure,” Nat said, eyebrows rising even as she smiled. “Yeah. I think we could do that.” She finished her coffee and stood. “Come by whenever.” 

Sam watched Nat leave, and Clint could tell she was doing her sexy spy walk, the one that could bring any man (and many women) to their knees. He’d have considered giving Sam some form of the shovel talk, but Nat was more than capable of taking care of herself. She would also  _ definitely  _ murder Clint if she found out about it, so he held his tongue.

They had another couple of missions come up, but nothing that really required more than a couple hours of focused attention. That was fine, Clint was glad that things seemed to be settling down again. But he was also starting to feel a little claustrophobic in the city. He missed the open sky, the rolling fields, the simplicity of the farm. It was also harder to ignore his own grief and loss when he had less to do, and running away had always been his first instinct when his feelings got too big to ignore. 

He’d just sank down onto the couch in the lounge after getting back from another misunderstanding of what actually justified Avenger intervention, feeling his exhaustion in his bones, when Pickles jumped into his lap with a soft meow.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, stroking the cat and scratching him behind his ears the way he liked. Pickles purred and pressed up against Clint’s hand.

“I think he misses you,” Bucky said, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked good today, definitely better than the last few times Clint had seen him. The dark circles under his eyes were starting to recede and he didn’t have that haunted look that had hung on him like a shadow since he came back.

“Nah, he just thinks he does. He’s had plenty of me for years, and he always liked you better anyway.”

Bucky shrugged, not moving to get any closer. “I think he just likes that I’m always here. You leave the Tower a lot more than I do.”

“I don’t know,” Clint said. “You’re an easy guy to like, Bucky.”

The tips of Bucky’s ears went pink and he looked down. Clearing his throat, Clint shifted Pickles off his lap and stood. The movement made Bucky look up again and Clint caught his eyes.

“Can I show you something?” 

Bucky nodded, following Clint as he led him towards an unmarked door that opened onto a set of stairs. When they reached the top, Clint pushed open the door, letting sunlight flood into the stairwell.

Bucky blinked as he followed Clint through the door, letting out a low breath after his eyes adjusted. He did a full circle, eyes wide, like he couldn’t quite believe that this was real.

“This is amazing,” Bucky said, voice a little thick as he looked around.

“I thought you might like it,” Clint said, smiling at the wonder in Bucky’s eyes. “I used to come up here all the time when I was stuck here. Still do, sometimes.” He leaned back against the railing with his face towards the sun, closing his eyes to the warmth.

“Hey,” Bucky said, and Clint opened his eyes to look at him. “Thank you.”

Clint nodded, shrugging. “It’s no big deal.”

“Clint, this is the first time I’ve been outside to go anywhere except therapy in months. It’s a big deal for me.” 

“Then you’re welcome,” he said, facing Bucky. “You doing okay, with therapy and everything?”

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah, I think so. It’s getting better, but sometimes it still hits me when I don’t expect it.”

“That sounds scary.” 

“It is, but I’m working on it. It’s not happening as much anymore.”

“What do you do when that happens?” Clint knew that Bucky wanted to do this on his own, but if it happened again and Clint was there, he wanted to know what to do. He wanted to be able to help, beyond carrying Bucky to his room and giving him the most basic sustenance to keep him alive.

“Mostly just breathe, but there’s some other things I can do, too. I’ve been practicing.” Bucky cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?” Clint nodded. “What was it like, before we came back?”

Clint frowned, looking out at the skyline. “It was hard.” He could tell his voice was tight and a little pained. He didn’t really like thinking about that time, but if Bucky wanted to know, he’d tell him. “Everything was in chaos, and no one really knew what to do.”

“What did you do?”

“What we could,” Clint said, shrugging. “Nat set up communications and kept everything in order and the rest of us went where we were needed to keep the peace. Steve did some groups and stuff for people too, like what Sam’s been talking about.” He shrugged again. “I don’t know if it helped, but we tried.”

“I’m sure it did,” Bucky said. He moved, as though to put a hand on Clint’s shoulder, but then seemed to think better of it, letting his arm fall to his side. “Thanks for showing me this, Clint.”

“I just thought it might be a nice escape for you, until you’re ready to get back out into the world again.”

Bucky nodded, and Clint turned to leave.

“Clint?”

“Yeah?” When he turned back to face Bucky, Bucky was frowning.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Bucky shook his head, looking down at his feet. “I don’t know. For disappearing. For coming back and being like this. I know it’s not what you wanted.”

“Bucky,” Clint said, voice cracking a little on his name. “None of this is your fault. What I want is for you to be whole and happy. That’s it. End of story. Okay?”

“Okay.” 

Bucky looked away from him, out across the skyline, and Clint forced himself to leave. If he didn’t, he’d end up professing his love and that was the very last thing Bucky needed at that moment. He was already feeling guilty over something that wasn’t even remotely his fault, and Clint wasn’t going to add to that by dumping his feelings all over him. At least he’d been able to give Bucky something that he could enjoy on his own. That was something.

* * *

“So, kind of like therapy, but with other people?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Sam said, chuckling lightly. The TV was on behind them, but Clint could see that they were only half-watching as he stepped into the lounge.

“Could I come?”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, but he nodded. “Sure, man.” He clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing it a little. “Look at you, first therapy, now group.”

“All new me,” Bucky said, grinning.

“Aw, I kind of liked the old you,” Clint said, sinking onto the couch on Bucky’s other side and nodding at the screen. “Is this the one where Chandler proposes?”

Bucky let out a soft noise of disappointment and Clint winced. 

“Sorry! I forgot you haven’t seen  _ Friends  _ before.”

“It’s fine. I mostly just needed something to do that wasn’t staring at the walls of my room anymore.” He caught Clint’s eye and shrugged. Clint understood completely. He knew only too well how small this massive tower could be when you felt trapped in it.

“Well, I have an idea that just might meet those criteria better than  _ Friends _ .” Bucky and Sam stared at him, eyebrows raised. “I vote we have a shooting contest.”

The smile that spread across Bucky’s face was so bright and so genuine that Clint almost forgot about everything and kissed him. Instead of doing that and trampling all over what Bucky had explicitly said he needed, Clint turned off the TV and led the way to the shooting range.

Clint had long since programmed the computers to set up truly ridiculous courses for him, and he used every trick he knew to make the competition as challenging as possible. The targets moved in so many different directions it was hard to keep track of them all.

“Computer, keep score,” Sam said, as he stepped up to go first.

“What do we get if we win?” Clint asked, the thrum of competition pulsing in his veins.

Sam looked thoughtful, before his face brightened. “Whoever wins gets to choose the movie we watch at the next movie night.”

“Oh, Nat’s going to hate that. You sure you want to piss her off? I thought things were going so well.” Clint winked at Sam, who waved him off.

“Shut up, man. Let me shoot.”

“Okay,” Clint said innocently. “I’m just saying. Nat likes you, sure, but one bad movie pick and that could all go out the window. She has very particular tastes.”

Sam pulled on his hearing protection, pretending he hadn’t heard what Clint had said. Bucky was blinking at Sam like he was trying to process this new information.

“Sam and Natasha?” he said slowly, smiling to himself.

“Yeah,” Clint said, shrugging. 

“I know you’re talking about me,” Sam said loudly, not taking out his earplugs. Clint turned off his aids, put on his own protection, and watched as Sam hit most of the targets. It wasn’t until the last couple of targets that his aim went slightly wide. To be fair, Clint had made the movement completely random on those ones, so it wasn’t really Sam’s fault.

“Shit,” he cursed, tugging the plugs out of his ears when the computer read out his score. “Can’t believe I missed that last one.”

Clint pointed between himself and Bucky, and Bucky waved him on. Clint switched his aids back on. He didn’t really need them for this, but it couldn’t hurt. Pulling his favorite bow from the rack, he slipped on a quiver and stepped up to the line.

“Watch how it’s done, gentlemen.”

As the arrows flew, Clint felt settled like he hadn’t in a long time. It was almost like meditating, the constant thrum and thud of arrows releasing and hitting their mark. He hit every bullseye, but Sam scoffed when he was done.

“You set up the course. No way anyone can get a perfect score besides you.”

“I’ll take that wager,” Bucky said, striding over to the gun rack with more confidence than Clint had seen in him since he came back. “And when I win, I’m going to pick some old black and white movie, just to fuck with you guys.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open and Clint felt almost giddy to see Bucky this way. He hadn’t intended for this to be the result of his little field trip, but he was glad to see Bucky finding his way back to himself a little. He and Sam put their ear protection back on and stood back to watch Bucky shoot.

It was like watching an artist work. He hardly moved, adjusting his aim with the slightest tensing of his arm or turn of his body. No matter what the computer threw at him, he hit each target clean through the center, edging out Clint’s score by one point.

“Jesus. How do you  _ do  _ that?” Sam said, letting out a low whistle.

“Looks like we need some more practice,” Clint said. He didn’t even care that he’d lost. Actually having fun with Bucky and Sam was worth it. Seeing Bucky like that, confident and in control, was definitely worth it.

Bucky didn’t say anything, and Clint turned away, figuring he was putting the safety back on. But then he saw the look on Sam’s face go from playful to concerned and knew something was wrong.

Bucky was staring down the shooting range, eyes slightly glazed. The gun was still in his hand, held loosely at his side as he breathed, long and slow.

“Bucky?” Clint said gently, afraid to approach him or do anything to startle him. Bucky's eyes shifted to meet his and Clint could see how hard he was working to keep himself steady.

“I’m okay,” Bucky said, but his voice was a little hollowed out, nothing like the cocky swagger he’d had just minutes before. “I’m okay.”

“Just keep breathing,” Sam said. 

Bucky nodded, setting the gun down on a table before sitting down. His hands clutched his knees, fingers tapping out a rhythm against his legs, and after a few moments, he looked up.

“Sorry about that,” he said quietly.

Clint shook his head. “No need to apologize. What do you need?”

“I’m okay. Really.” He took one last deep breath and nodded, standing to put the gun away.

Clint stayed behind after Bucky and Sam left to clean the guns and oil his bow. He needed to do something with his hands. Bucky really did seem okay after his memory came back, but Clint had felt so helpless in that moment. He’d wanted to be there for Bucky, but he didn’t know how.

Clint had meant what he said on the roof. He wanted Bucky to be happy and whole again, whatever that meant for their relationship. But Clint wasn’t sure he could stay on the sidelines while Bucky did that. 

Clint realized his hands were shaking and he put his bow to the side. He’d been avoiding his feelings, pushing them down with activity and easy grins, but he wasn’t sure he could do it anymore. He needed to do something, fix something. He felt that urge to run again, just disappear and never come back, like that would solve this. 

It probably wouldn’t, but he couldn’t shake the thought. He put the bow away and went in search of Natasha. Maybe she’d have something for him to do.

* * *

_ Bucky, _

_ I don’t know how long it’s been since I said your name out loud. That’s a weird thing to realize.  _

_ I think I stopped writing to you because I’ve mostly stopped thinking you’re ever going to be able to write back. Natasha and Steve have tried everything to figure out what to do, and they can’t, and Tony and Bruce have given up and disappeared, so what hope do I have? I’m just some dumb circus kid who shoots arrows. I’m no genius, I’m not a super soldier, and I don’t have any ideas. _

_ I guess what I’m saying is, I still miss you, but it feels different now. It feels permanent, like it didn’t before, and it’s taken me this long to actually put together that you’re not coming back. Nobody is. No point hoping for anything different. It’s time I accepted that. _

_ If you ever do come back, I’ll deny I ever lost faith. Fat chance of that happening, though. _

_ This might be my last letter, but don’t ever think I stopped thinking about you. _

_ Clint _

* * *

“I saw their faces. All these people I killed. I don’t even know why I killed them. I just know I did,” Bucky said, voice low and rough. He’d been thinking about his episode at the shooting range since it happened, and he needed to talk about it. The images of those people were in his head, and even though he hadn’t had another episode since then, it bothered him every time he remembered. He hated that that was part of him, that he had done those things.

“As the Winter Soldier,” Dr. Moore said.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t matter,” he said bitterly.

“Okay, why doesn’t that matter, Bucky?”

“Because I’m still the one who did it. I’m the one with the memories. That’s part of me.”

“Okay, fair point. Now that your memories are coming back, do you feel as though you’re experiencing that part of yourself more clearly?”

Bucky thought for a long moment. “I guess so. It’s like all the memories they wiped from me got restored and now they’re mixed in with everything else. I can’t separate that part of me from the rest like I could when I couldn’t remember everything.” He looked down at his hands, trying not to think about the faces that still lingered in his mind. “How do I move forward?” Bucky asked, voice cracking a little.

“I guess that depends on where you want to go.”

Bucky laughed sadly. “I want to go back.”

Dr. Moore nodded. “What does that mean for you?”

“I was just figuring out who I was. Me, Bucky, not the Winter Soldier, not Captain America’s friend, but just Bucky. That got taken away from me when I disappeared, and I don’t know if I’m ever going to get it back.”

“Would you say you’re angry about that? Frustrated? Sad?”

Bucky frowned, thinking of how badly he wanted to be able to have the life he’d dreamed about in Wakanda. “Frustrated, mostly.”

“And where is that coming from, do you think?”

“I thought I would be able to get back to normal faster than this.”

“What does normal look like to you, Bucky? What are some things you could do that might feel normal?”

“You’re cooking?” Sam said, rounding the corner into the kitchen a few days later and sniffing at the air like he couldn’t believe it. Bucky and Dr. Moore had come up with a list of things he could do to restore some routine and normalcy to his life, and cooking breakfast was on the list for today.

“I know how to cook,” Bucky said, grumbling a little. It was just scrambled eggs and toast, but it was something. It felt normal. It felt like progress.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Bucky scowled at him and Sam grinned. “Here I was thinking you only ate granola bars and cereal.”

Ignoring him, Bucky slid the eggs onto a plate and poured himself a cup of coffee. Sam snuck a piece of toast off his plate, taking a bite before Bucky could protest.

“Careful, maybe I’m a bad enough cook to screw up toast,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow at Sam.

“I’ll take the risk.” Sam polished off the toast in three more bites, before standing and stretching his arms over his head. “I was going to go for a run to the park. You want to come?”

“I thought you were a fan of running inside?”

“I am,” Sam said, nodding. “But I’m so tired of being in this tower, I’ll take the crowds and the uneven sidewalks and all of it.”

Bucky considered it for a moment. He hadn’t really left the Tower except to go to therapy for months now, and while the roof was nice, it would probably feel good to just run for a while. And with Sam there, Bucky wouldn’t be alone if a memory hit him. If he was going to try venturing out, another item on the list, this was probably his best opportunity to give it a shot.

“I’m in.”

Bucky’s shirt was sticking to his chest by the time they reached the closest park, and Sam stopped to take a break under one of the trees when they got there. The sun was hot, humidity making the air heavy and thick.

“You’ve been working out a lot lately,” Bucky said, as Sam took a swig from his water bottle. It seemed like every time Bucky left his room recently, Sam was doing laps in the halls, and if he wasn’t doing that, he was in the gym.

“Yeah, so?”

“Trying to get in shape for the Black Widow?” Bucky smirked. “Must need to build your stamina for something, right?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Trying to be an Avenger again, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, shrugging. “I miss helping people. I miss flying.”

“You’re ready for that?” Bucky said, eyebrows rising.

“Not yet. But I think I will be soon. I want to be.”

“That’s great,” Bucky said, clapping him on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “They’ll be lucky to have you on the team.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

“As part of your speed training,” Bucky said slowly, letting Sam finish drinking his water. “I think we should race back to the Tower.”

He took off before he even finished speaking, and Sam shouted after him, drawing the attention of some of the other people in the park. Bucky found that he didn’t care. He was laughing by the time he got back to the Tower. He felt his heart thumping in his chest, reminding him he was alive. He was alive and he hadn’t had an episode since that day in the shooting range. He felt good, in a way he hadn’t since coming back. Something had changed and he was going to take advantage of it while it lasted.

Sam ran up a couple of minutes later, scowling when Bucky offered him some water. “Not cool, Bucky.”

“Just trying to help you get back in fighting shape,” Bucky said, grinning.

Sam rolled his eyes and they went inside, taking the elevator up to the kitchen. Clint was there, sipping on a cup of coffee, and he looked up when they came in.

“Where were you guys?”

“Out for a run,” Bucky said, and he saw a glimmer of what might have been pride in Clint’s eyes.

“Nice. How is it out there?”

“Hot,” Sam said, dropping his water bottle on the counter and heading for his room. “I need a shower.”

“How was it for you?” Clint asked, when Sam had disappeared down the hall.

“Fine,” Bucky said. “It was actually kind of fun, being outside and doing something for a change.”

Clint nodded. “That’s good.” Bucky hadn’t noticed before, but Clint looked exhausted, dark circles shadowing his eyes and skin paler than usual. Even Clint’s smile looked a little strained to Bucky, now that he was looking closely. 

Before either of them could say anything else, his phone chirped and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “An Avenger’s work is never done,” he said with a grin. “I’ll see you later, Bucky.”

Bucky headed down to the shooting range after Clint left. He’d had a good day, a good series of days, and he felt ready to go back there. He hadn’t been back since the competition with Clint and Sam, but he wanted to face those ghosts. He wasn’t the Winter Soldier anymore, and even though that was part of him, he needed to do this to move forward. This wasn’t on his list that he’d made with Dr. Moore, but it felt like something he needed to do for himself. He needed to prove to himself that he could.

He set up a basic set of targets, but that was too easy, so he found one of the combinations Clint had set up, with swinging and spinning targets. Clint must have been very bored when he was under house arrest. Bucky smiled at the thought.

When he’d emptied the gun into the targets, Bucky set it down. Each bullseye was perfectly through the center. Bucky looked at the targets and they didn’t change to anything else this time, just reset after enough time had passed. 

As he sat there, cleaning the gun and putting it back on the rack, Bucky let himself relax. Shooting was a part of him that was always going to be connected to the Soldier, but he could shoot and not be overwhelmed by memories now. It was just one day at the range, but it gave him a little hope that maybe he could figure this out and get back to the life he wanted. Maybe he could reconcile the parts of himself and find his way forward, one step at a time. It was at least a place to start. 

* * *

A timid-looking woman raised her hand and Sam nodded at her,smiling. “Could I go first?”

“Sure. What would you like to say?”

“I’m Ellen.” The group murmured a greeting. “I was vanished, and when I came back, my daughter didn’t even recognize me. She was just a baby when I disappeared, so it makes sense, but it still hurts.”

“I’m sure it does,” Sam said, nodding.

“It’s getting a little better, but I’ve had such a hard time readjusting. It’s been hard to connect with her.”

“Do you want to tell us what’s been the hardest maybe?”

Ellen shrugged, sniffling a little. “I just missed so much. It’s hard to see pictures of all those big moments in my daughter’s life and know that I missed all of them.” Tears were starting to trickle down her cheeks and she wiped them away.

“I’m in the same boat,” a tired-looking man said, from across the circle. “My kids had a new stepfather by the time I came back, and it’s been hard to get back into their lives without disrupting what they had while I was gone. I still love my wife, but I understand that she had to move on. I don’t begrudge her that, but I miss her. I miss the life I had.”

When no one else jumped in, Sam nodded again. “Let’s talk about that: the life we had. Is there a way to go back to that, really?” A few people shook their heads, but others looked unsure. “Is there another way to look at this, like an opportunity to move forward into something new?”

“I don’t want something new,” a young woman said, voice taking on an edge of anger. “I didn’t do anything to deserve to be vanished. I didn’t ask to come back. Everything is different and I hate it.”

“Okay, anger is a completely reasonable response to all this. What makes you the angriest about it?”

“Sometimes I remember things, and I think I’m back there, but I’m not. I’m stuck here, in this mess. I had a whole life before, and now it’s gone, and it’s not even my fault.”

“You’re right, it’s not your fault,” Sam repeated, and Bucky was struck by how good he was at this. He knew Sam was good at talking him through things, but watching him work with all these people was truly impressive. Even as the young woman started to cry, Sam stayed calm. 

“How am I supposed to move forward when my mind keeps bringing me backward?” she asked, now sobbing. “I miss my life, and every time I think I’ve accepted what’s happening, my brain decides to show me more of what I lost.”

“That’s really hard,” Sam agreed. “Is anyone else experiencing something like that? ” About half the circle nodded, Bucky included. “It’s tough, right? How do we move forward when we keep getting pulled backward?”

Those words echoed in Bucky’s head on the whole walk back to the Tower after the meeting was over. He wanted to move forward. He’d been working hard to manage his memories and get back to some semblance of normalcy. He just had to figure out what he wanted normal to look like.

The first thing that popped into his head was Clint. He’d asked Clint for time to figure out what was going on with him, and Clint had completely respected that. He’d given Bucky space, but he was still there whenever Bucky needed him. 

As he got closer to the Tower, Bucky made a decision. He was going to talk to Clint. He was going to tell him that he’d taken all the time he needed, and that he wasn’t sure he could be exactly the person he was before he vanished, but he wanted to be with Clint. Whatever that looked like, that’s what Bucky really wanted, and he was going to ask for it.

When he got back to his room, Bucky took a shower, letting the hot water flow over him and wash away any lingering nerves. Clint was the one who had shown Bucky that it was okay to want things, and what Bucky wanted was Clint. Clint needed to know that.

Padding out to the kitchen, still toweling his hair dry, Bucky poked through the fridge until he found some leftover pizza. He grabbed a slice and ate it, leaning against the counter. Now that he had made up his mind, he felt settled, centered like he hadn’t for a long time. He just needed to find Clint. He hadn’t seen him all day.

It wasn’t unusual for Clint to be out of the Tower, but Bucky checked his usual haunts, just in case. When he finally went back to his room after checking the roof to see if Clint was up there, Bucky noticed a scrap of paper on his coffee table that he hadn’t seen before.

_ I had to leave. I’m sorry. - Clint _

Bucky sank onto his bed, head spinning. What? How could Clint just be gone?

He stared down at the note, tracing over the scrawled words again and again, like reading them one more time would make them make sense. 

When he’d pulled himself together a little, Bucky went to Sam’s room and knocked, note still clutched in his hand.

“Clint’s gone,” he said, voice catching on Clint’s name.

“Come in,” Sam said, frowning as he waved Bucky inside. 

Natasha was already there, two beer bottles open on the coffee table. She frowned when she saw Bucky, and stood to leave the room.

“I need to make a call,” she said, stepping out with her phone already pressed to her ear.

When the door had closed behind Natasha, Sam turned back to Bucky. “What’s going on?”

Bucky took a shaky breath. “I was going to tell him that I’m ready to try again. After group, I was going to talk to him. I was going to tell him that what I want is to be with him. That’s all I want.” He sighed. “But now he’s gone.”

“Where would he go? The farm?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky wondered if Clint would go back to the farm. It seemed too simple. Clint had to have plenty of other safe houses to go to if he really wanted to disappear. 

“You want to go after him?”

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah, but I don’t know if he wants me to.” 

Sam nodded, squeezing Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, man. If there’s anything I can do to help…”

Bucky nodded, sinking back on Sam’s couch with a sigh. He’d been so sure how he wanted to move forward after group, and now he didn’t know what to do. Clint had obviously left for a reason, and Bucky had to respect that. He just had to figure out how to deal with it first.

The door opened and Natasha came back inside, a deep frown still creasing her forehead. 

“He’s okay,” she said. “He said he needed some space to think. He needed to get out of the city for a while.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky. He didn’t even tell me he was leaving.” 

Bucky shook his head. It made sense. He’d waited too long. He shouldn’t have expected Clint to wait for him forever. And anyway, he’d asked for time and Clint had given it to him. It was the least he could do to do the same for Clint. 

Bucky paced his room and around all the corridors for days, wondering if it would be worth it to drive to Iowa just to see if Clint was there. He didn’t, because he really did want to respect what Clint wanted, but it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to keep himself from stealing a car and going down there.

“I think you should read this,” Natasha said, appearing in his doorway one afternoon and holding out an envelope to Bucky. It was cleaner, crisper than the stack Clint had left for him, but his name was on the outside, in the same sharp handwriting as the others. “I found it in Clint’s room.”

Bucky took it, unfolding it with shaking hands, and began to read.

* * *

_ Dear Bucky, _

_ Tony and Bruce are pretty sure they’ve figured out a way to bring everybody back... _

* * *

The farm looked much the same as Clint remembered it. Still a little lopsided, still a little run down. He had at least been allowed to hire someone to take care of the place while he was under Tower arrest in New York. Still, he’d expected to be gone a year, maybe two, but instead he hadn’t been back since Ross found him. Since Bucky left.

God, maybe it had been a mistake to come back here. Just looking at the house, Clint couldn’t help but remember everything that had happened the last time he was here. All his memories swirled around him like ghosts.

But Clint didn’t have anywhere else to go. He couldn’t stay in the Tower anymore. Everything about it felt wrong. There was grief, and a sense of isolation, that he couldn’t shake, no matter what he did. He’d pushed it down for a long time, but now he needed space to breathe, to think about what he wanted, how to move forward.

He ended up on the porch, sinking down onto the steps with a long, low sigh. It was quiet, the air cool and fresh on Clint’s face. He had things to do here, projects he hoped would keep his mind off all the things he had left behind. It might not have totally worked in the Tower, but it was worth a shot. He had to start somewhere.

Clint managed to settle into a routine of sorts. He’d wake up at sunrise and work on the house until his whole body was sore, sweat pouring down his back, then take an icy shower and lay in the hammock he’d set up by the side of the house until he fell asleep. It was nice, nice to sleep in the sunshine and not think about anything but the farm and the solitary life he was going to build here.

But as the days went on, the isolation of the farm settled around him. He’d hoped that this would be a good break for him, give him a chance to clear his head and work through his shit, but it wasn’t working out that way. He missed Pickles. He missed Bucky. God, he missed Bucky so much, it hurt more than it ever did at the Tower.

It didn’t help that every time he looked up, he half expected to see Bucky, walking towards him across the field like some sort of romance novel hero. Some part of him wished Bucky would follow him, find him here. Clint hadn’t left any clues about where he was going, but Bucky had to know, right?

He was fixing up a corner of the porch floor that was sagging, nails clenched in his mouth while he hummed along to the song playing on his old radio.

“Need some help?” Clint froze, turning his head to stare at what he was sure was a hallucination. It had to be. 

“Bucky?” Clint whispered, not convinced that he was real. 

He looked good, cradling a restless Pickles in his arms. He looked healthy, hair shiny and pulled back into a loose ponytail. His blue eyes were bright, crinkling at the edges when he smiled gently. Pickles jumped out of Bucky’s arms and took off after something, leaving them to figure out where to go from here.

“Hi,” Bucky said softly, looking down at his feet. “I, uh, I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

Clint blinked at him. “Of course it’s okay. I’m glad you’re here. Are you okay?”

Bucky chuckled, low in his throat, and Clint shivered at the sound. He’d missed Bucky’s laugh. He hadn’t heard it in a while. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m not the one who disappeared.”

Fair point. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Natasha said you needed space.” Bucky shifted his weight and pulled something out of his pocket.

“What’s that?”

“It’s, uh, it’s a letter.” Clint’s heart dropped into his stomach as Bucky held it out. The envelope was a bright white and Clint realized exactly which letter it was. 

Bucky cleared his throat. “Natasha found it in your room.” 

“Did you read it?” Clint’s voice sounded hoarse to his ears. He’d given Bucky several letters, but he’d left this one out. The feelings he had described in it were still too raw, too much, especially after Bucky had asked for space. Just seeing Bucky there with it in his hands was a little overwhelming. 

“Clint,” Bucky said, and his voice was ragged around the edges, too. He looked down at the letter, frowning as he opened the envelope. As Bucky unfolded the letter, Clint felt his cheeks burn. 

“No, you don’t have to --”

“Dear Bucky,” Bucky began, voice shaking a little. “Tony and Bruce are pretty sure they’ve figured out a way to bring everybody back. It has something to do with time travel, and Scott keeps talking about the quantum realm, and I don’t know what any of it means, but we’re going to go back and get the Stones, and maybe we can fix this.” 

Clint remembered writing this letter. He didn’t remember exactly what he’d put in some of the others, but this one, he remembered vividly. He could still feel his desperate fear that the plan wouldn’t work and his determination to do whatever he could to make sure it did.

Tears welled in Clint’s eyes as the memories flooded back. He saw a few teardrops sliding down Bucky’s cheeks as he kept reading. “I keep telling myself not to get my hopes up, but if there’s a way to bring you back, I have to try. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know how I’m going to come back from it. It still hurts when I think about you, and if this plan fails, I think I might just fall completely apart. I might never recover.” 

A dry sob wracked Clint, and he held a hand over his mouth to hold it back. Hearing Bucky read this letter, his last letter, was like going back to that day. He’d been afraid to hope, more afraid not to.

Bucky sniffed, but managed to choke out the last few words. “I miss you, and I still love you, and I have to believe I’m going to be able to tell you that in person soon. Clint.”

Clint had only given Bucky a few of his letters to help with his memories. There were dozens more, all of them chronicling the desperation Clint had felt after everyone disappeared, the sorrow when he realized they weren’t coming back, and the need he had to keep working, to keep trying to help bring everyone back. He’d never thought Bucky would read any of them, least of all this one.

“You wrote this less than a year ago,” Bucky said slowly, thickly, like his throat wasn’t quite working right. “But then you left. So. I don’t. Do you still --”

Clint felt his heart fully shatter in his chest at the question. Instead of answering, he grabbed a fistful of Bucky’s shirt and pulled him forward. It wasn’t a perfect kiss. Clint missed Bucky’s lips by about an inch, and their teeth clacked together awkwardly. But that was okay. He was kissing Bucky, Bucky was kissing him. That was all that mattered. 

They did better the second time, Clint holding Bucky’s face in his hands, afraid to let go. Bucky’s hands were gentle, calming, as they stroked down Clint’s sides. Clint didn’t want to stop kissing him, but then he tasted the salt on his tongue. Pulling himself away just slightly, he rested his forehead against Bucky’s.

“God, I missed you,” he said, voice catching and breaking as he tried to speak.

“Me too,” Bucky said softly, brushing the hair out of Clint’s eyes.

Bucky pulled Clint towards him again, one hand cradling the back of Clint’s head as their lips met for another kiss. 

“So, you’ll stay?” Clint said. Bucky laughed, letting his head fall to Clint’s shoulder as he nodded.

“Yeah. I think that’s all I ever wanted.”

* * *

In the morning, Clint woke to find Bucky’s arm thrown over his waist. Bucky’s chest was pressed against his back, and their legs were tangled together under the blankets. Clint grabbed his aids from the side table before snuggling back into Bucky’s arms. He could feel Bucky’s breath, hot on the back of his neck.

“Morning,” Bucky mumbled, a smile in his voice. 

Clint grumbled and Bucky tightened his hold, burying his nose in the hair at the base of Clint’s neck. 

“We should get up,” Bucky said, and Clint grumbled in response again. “Unless you have another idea.”

Clint grinned, turning onto his back so he could see Bucky’s face. “I have many ideas.”

One of Bucky’s eyebrows quirked up and he leaned down to kiss Clint, still smiling. “Is this one of them?”

“Could be,” Clint said, wrapping a hand around the back of Bucky’s neck to pull him down. Clint licked into Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky groaned. Clint could feel Bucky half-hard against his stomach. Clint ground up, relishing the pressure and the friction and the feeling of being this close to Bucky again.

Smiling gently, Bucky threaded his fingers through Clint’s hair. It was getting long. Clint had the fleeting thought that he should probably cut it, when Bucky tugged, just a little, and sent a flash of heat down Clint’s spine. He moaned, and Bucky’s grin sharpened.

“You like that?” he murmured, tugging again, a little harder this time. Clint nodded, biting gently at the skin of Bucky’s neck and smiling at the hiss that escaped him.

Pushing up the hem of Clint’s shirt, Bucky let his fingers trail over Clint’s bare skin. Clint shivered and sat up to help Bucky get the shirt over his head. Then, feeling inspired, he swung himself around so he could settle his weight fully onto Bucky’s thighs.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Bucky said, staring up at Clint as he ran his tongue across his lips. He raised one hand to trace a finger around Clint’s nipple, letting his fingernail graze just the edge of it. Pleasure sparked in Clint’s chest at the sensation and he swayed a little, biting his lip to hold himself together. “Shit. You’re so beautiful.”

Clint felt a flush spread over his entire body, and shook his head. “Stop.”

“Never.” Clint’s eyes snapped back up to meet Bucky’s. “You are.”

Clint leaned down to kiss him, only breaking away to tug at his shirt. Bucky caught on and propped himself up to pull it off, letting it land on the floor with Clint’s.

Clint froze for a second, just staring down at Bucky, fingers hovering over Bucky’s skin. He’d seen Bucky shirtless before, but this was different. It was hard to believe this wasn’t all a very detailed dream. 

“Clint?” Bucky said, catching Clint’s hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. “You okay?”

Clint nodded enthusiastically. Laughing, Bucky pulled him down and twisted so they were facing each other. He pressed a kiss to Clint’s bare shoulder and whispered, “I can’t believe this happening,” so quietly Clint almost didn’t catch it. . 

“Me neither,” Clint said, pulling him in for another kiss, softer this time. Bucky grinned again, and Clint wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Bucky smile this much. It looked good on him. Clint was determined to keep him this way, however he could.

One of Bucky’s hands snaked down to Clint’s ass and gave it a squeeze while he pulled him back in for another sloppy kiss. Clint squirmed a little, letting Bucky press them closer together. 

Bucky shifted, and Clint took advantage of the slight space between them to trace the waistband of Bucky’s pants with a fingertip. Bucky shivered at the touch, so Clint slipped his finger under the fabric, stroking the heated skin and groaning at the way Bucky’s hips jerked up against his, the light friction of their boxers driving him completely wild. Their tongues tangled together and Bucky’s teeth closed on Clint’s lower lip, drawing out a low moan.

“God, I missed you so much,” Clint hissed, burying his face in Bucky’s neck.

“Me too,” Bucky murmured. His breath was hot in Clint’s ear and when he sucked Clint’s earlobe into his mouth, Clint’s hips snapped, searching for that delicious friction. Bucky made a sound low in his throat and reached down to paw at Clint’s waistband. 

Taking the hint, Clint wriggled out of his boxers. Bucky shucked his off too and Clint felt his brain short-circuit at the sight. Bucky’s hands drifted over Clint’s hips and down his thighs, his knuckles just ghosting over the already over-sensitive skin of Clint’s cock.

Clint gasped as Bucky slid down his body with a wicked grin. He trailed his fingers up Clint’s legs, leaving goosebumps in his wake as he settled himself between Clint’s thighs. 

Bucky pressed a kiss to the inside of Clint’s knee and Clint couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Can I?” he asked, biting his lip in a way that really should have been illegal. Clint nodded, and Bucky shifted until Clint could feel the heat of his breath on his straining erection.

“Please,” Clint breathed.

“Patience,” Bucky said softly, kissing up Clint’s thigh to trace his tongue over his hipbone. Clint’s body jerked as he tried desperately to find the contact he needed and Bucky stopped. “Please, Clint. Let me enjoy this.”

Clint settled back into the pillows, trying to breathe as evenly as he could. 

Bucky smiled. “Good,” he said as he took Clint’s cock in his metal hand and gave it a loose stroke. The smooth grooves of the metal plates grazed against his skin, and Clint felt his eyes roll back into his head.

“Jesus, Bucky,” he whimpered, and then Bucky added his tongue, circling the head of Clint’s cock before sucking him down. His mouth was so warm and wet and he never stopped moving. He kept applying just the right amount of suction to edge Clint towards climax, then backing off before Clint could find any release. “You’re trying to kill me,” Clint keened the third time Bucky pulled away.

“Nah,” Bucky said, a little hoarsely. “Think I like you alive. Think I like you like this.”

Clint clutched at the sheets, knuckles white with the effort of trying not to come too soon. Words weren’t possible anymore, just nonsense syllables that fell out of his mouth every time Bucky’s tongue flicked over the head of his cock. 

Bucky closed his hand around the base of Clint’s cock again, squeezing as he stroked in time with his mouth. The combination of the grooves on Bucky’s metal hand and the wet heat of Bucky’s mouth, working in tandem over Clint’s cock, was overwhelming in the best way. Bucky hummed around him and the vibration almost pushed him completely over the edge, but Clint managed to hold himself together.

“Come up here. Please,” he croaked. Bucky slid off of Clint’s dick with a wet pop and lifted himself up to press a sloppy kiss to Clint’s lips. Clint could taste himself in Bucky’s mouth, salty and bitter, and he squirmed, drawing moans out of both of them when his wet cock slid against Bucky’s.

Clint took Bucky’s hand and moved it down with his own to grasp them both, smearing saliva and pre-come over the sensitive skin. Clint let Bucky set the pace, and soon felt his climax rising like a wave in his body.

“Come for me, Bucky,” Clint mumbled and saw Bucky’s eyes go wide. “Come on. Come for me.” He squeezed around Bucky’s fist just a little harder, and felt him go stiff as he came, spilling all over their hands. 

Clint’s strokes stuttered towards his own orgasm moments later, Bucky’s hand still moving with his, and he came all over his stomach with a grunt of Bucky’s name. He fell back onto the pillows beside Bucky and tried to catch his breath.

“I didn’t think we’d ever get here,” Bucky said after a moment, wrapping an arm around Clint and tugging him closer against his chest.

Clint relaxed a little, leaning over to kiss Bucky. “I didn’t either,” he murmured, and Bucky nuzzled his nose against Clint’s cheek. “But here we are.”

“Here we are,” Bucky repeated. “Here to stay.”

“Deal,” Clint agreed. “Let’s take a shower, and then I’ll make us some pancakes.” 

“Deal.” Bucky squeezed him closer before he let him up, nuzzling against Clint’s shoulder like he wasn’t too inclined to get up just yet.

* * *

They settled into a rhythm after that. It wasn’t all that different to how they were before, but now everything that had kept them apart was gone. Clint could touch Bucky now, whenever he wanted, drift a hand across Bucky’s spine or squeeze his thigh. And at unexpected moments, Bucky would drop soft kisses on whatever part of Clint he could reach. It had taken them a long time to get back here, but nothing was changing it now. This time, they just got to enjoy being together, and Clint didn’t want to waste that.

“You know what’s weird?” Bucky said, while they fixed some of the fence posts that were falling down around the field. 

Clint shrugged, more than a little distracted by the way Bucky’s shirt was sticking to his chest. He may or may not have chosen this activity for a good excuse to stare at Bucky while he dug the post holes. His new arm was even stronger than his regular one, and Clint was thoroughly enjoying the sight of Bucky putting it to work, muscles straining as he shoveled.

“Clint?” Bucky said, smiling indulgently as he leaned in for a kiss. Clint melted a little, chasing Bucky’s lips when he pulled away. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes. Definitely. Tell me what’s weird.”

“I think being here is helping me remember again. Not like before. I can find the memories better now. They don’t just pop up anymore”

“Yeah?” Clint said, grinning as Bucky kissed him again. 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, a low growl in his voice. “You help me remember.” He dropped his shovel and pulled Clint against him, tongue pressing greedily past Clint’s lips. Clint certainly wasn’t complaining, tangling his hands into Bucky’s hair. 

The fence posts lay forgotten until much later, after they’d found their way down to the grass and ground against each other like teenagers. The sun was just starting to drift below the horizon, sending orange rays of light over them both, when they finally came up for air. Clint didn’t even realize how hungry he was until his stomach growled loudly, sending them both into a fit of laughter that sent them rolling away from each other.

“Come on,” Bucky said. “Let’s get you fed.”

* * *

A few weeks later, on one rainy, gray afternoon they’d spent painting and rearranging the guest bedroom, they both flopped, tired and a little paint-splattered, onto their bed before taking a shower. No one had used the guest bedroom for years at this point, but Natasha and Sam had been hinting that they might come for a visit, and it gave them something to do on a particularly stormy day.

“We should probably wash up,” Bucky suggested. Clint groaned and let his hand fall onto Bucky’s chest. Bucky caught his hand and didn’t let go.

He traced over Clint’s knuckles with his thumb, almost absently at first, then more purposefully. Clint summoned all the energy he had left and turned to look at Bucky. Bucky still didn’t let go, holding Clint’s hand against his chest. 

“Bucky?” he whispered, and Bucky looked at him, those blue eyes full of an emotion Clint wasn’t sure he’d seen before. Clint didn’t know what was different, but whatever it was, he liked it. 

Bucky smiled, slow and sweet. “I love you.” 

Clint grinned, reaching over to stroke Bucky’s face. “I know, Bucky.”

Bucky’s smile widened and Clint pulled him closer for a kiss. “I love you,” Bucky breathed, and Clint kissed him again.

“I love you,” Clint said, trailing his lips down Bucky’s impossibly sharp jawline and listening to the tiny sighs fall from his mouth. He pulled back the collar of Bucky’s shirt and traced his tongue over his collarbone, determined to continue his quest to learn every curve of Bucky’s body. 

Tugging Bucky’s shirt up over his chest, Clint ghosted his fingers over his abs, watching in fascination as they contracted under his touch. Bucky pulled the shirt over his head and Clint smoothed his palms over the skin of Bucky’s shoulders, gently grazing the seam of his shoulder where the metal was grafted onto his skin.

“God, I love you,” Clint said again, and Bucky swung a leg over Clint’s hips, pinning him to the mattress. 

“Can I try something?” Bucky asked, looking down to where his hands were resting at the waistband of Clint’s jeans. Clint nodded, hips already grinding up to meet Bucky’s. Whatever Bucky wanted to try, he was on board. 

“Sure. Anything.” Bucky was already making short work of Clint’s shirt and pants, dropping them next to the bed in a pile. 

“You don’t even want to know what it is?” Bucky asked, grinning down at him while he eased Clint’s knees against his chest. 

Clint shook his head, heart beating rapidly. “I trust you.”

“Can you hold these here?” Bucky said, squeezing Clint’s calves before letting go. Clint wrapped his hands behind his knees and nodded, eyes glued to Bucky. Bucky’s eyes were a little bright, and he bit his lip, looking at Clint. “I want to be inside you,” Bucky murmured, and Clint moaned low in his throat.

Bucky kissed Clint’s ankle, warm hand wrapping around the joint. He leaned off the bed and rummaged in the drawer, sitting back up with a shy smile.

“You’re sure?” he said, and when Clint nodded again, his smile widened. He popped open a bottle of lube and spread it over his fingers. 

He started with the very gentlest of touches, just the barest glide of his fingertip around Clint’s rim, but even that was enough to make Clint’s cock twitch. Bucky bit his lip as he applied the barest amount of pressure, just nudging at Clint’s entrance.

Clint moaned again, and Bucky slipped the tip of his finger inside. The metal was cool, slicked with lube, and the blunt ridges slid against the sensitive skin of Clint’s rim. The sensation sent his hips up as he fought to relax.

“Is that okay?” Bucky asked, immediately stopping, eyes wide.

“Yes,” Clint murmured, taking a slow breath and relaxing his muscles. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“God, you’re so tight,” Bucky breathed, pressing one knuckle inside and still watching Clint’s face carefully. Clint’s hands were getting a little sweaty behind his knees, but he readjusted his grip to keep them where they were. 

Bucky spread one hand over Clint’s stomach, before pressing inside again with more lube on his finger. His finger slid all the way inside, until Clint could feel Bucky’s knuckles grazing the skin of his ass. Bucky rotated his finger, feeling his way towards Clint’s prostate with the gentlest touch. When he found it, crooking his finger to stroke against it, Clint let out a low moan at the sensation. 

Bucky grinned down at him, stroking more deliberately and sending sparks down Clint’s spine. Bucky leaned down to give Clint a searing kiss, tongue pressing into his mouth while he continued to finger Clint open. Clint felt himself melt into the delicious stretch of his muscles around Bucky’s finger, the low murmured praise from Bucky as he pressed deeper into Clint, the feel of Bucky’s skin against his. It was more than he ever imagined he could have.

Eyes sliding shut, Clint let himself get lost in the feeling, digging his blunt fingernails into the skin of his thighs to keep them up. Clint’s cock was weeping, so hard it hurt, but he wanted to let Bucky explore at his own pace. He could wait. 

“Touch yourself,” Bucky breathed into his ear, suddenly close, as he gently eased another finger inside. “Please, Clint. I want to make you feel good.”

“Fuck,” Clint swore. He swiped a little of the lube that had dripped down his thighs and moved to close a fist around his length. The glide of it, combined with Bucky’s probing fingers curling over his prostate nearly made him come. His feet fell to the mattress, legs splayed wide when he couldn’t hold them up any longer.

“Think you can take another?” Bucky asked, and Clint nodded his head vaguely up and down, not sure his voice would work at the moment. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Bucky, fuck. Please.” Clint knew that Bucky had him. Bucky would take care of him.

A third finger slid inside, and Clint felt his eyes roll back in his head at the stretch. He was so close, all that came out of his mouth was unintelligible sounds at the feeling of Bucky’s thick fingers moving in and out. His hands fisted in the comforter, sweaty and desperate for more of whatever Bucky wanted to give him.

“Can I?” Bucky said softly as Clint thrust up in search of more pressure, more friction, more Bucky. 

“Yes,” Clint gasped, ready to give Bucky whatever he wanted as long as he could keep chasing this feeling. 

Clint had seen Bucky’s dick before, had held it, put his mouth on it, but the exquisite stretch of it as Bucky entered him nearly drove Clint over the edge. 

Bucky kissed Clint’s neck, sliding the rest of the way inside. He stilled for a moment, staring down at Clint with that soft look in his eyes again. 

“I love you,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss Clint again. And then he started to move.

Clint breathed through his nose, trying to hold himself together, but he felt his balls tightening already from the drag of Bucky’s cock against his prostate. Bucky was moving slowly, languidly, and it felt incredible, but Clint wanted more.

“Harder,” he said roughly, bending his knees to hook them over Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky grunted, slotting his hips more firmly against Clint. “That’s what you want?” Clint nodded, and Bucky picked up his pace, driving deeper into Clint. Clint bucked up against him, matching Bucky’s rhythm. Every time the head of Bucky’s cock hit that spot, Clint felt a surge of pleasure wash over his body.

Clint felt Bucky tense above him and took that as permission. He let himself crash over the edge, coming all over his stomach with a sharp gasp. Bucky leaned down and kissed him hard, letting Clint swallow his groan as he snapped his hips against him one last time. Clint felt him pulse as he fell onto Clint, breathing hard. 

“Fuck,” Clint breathed when he was able to speak again. He felt safe, he felt held, he felt whole, for the first time in a long time. Bucky rolled off after a moment, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he settled onto the pillows.

Clint let his hand fall to Bucky’s shoulder, and then turned his head to find Bucky looking at him. He looked a little sleepy, hair messy on the pillowcase, eyes half-closed. “You’re beautiful.”

“Pretty sure that’s you,” Bucky said softly, smiling at Clint. 

Clint forced himself to sit up, grumbling at the effort. “I’ll clean you up. Hold on.” 

When he came back with a damp washcloth, Bucky was dozing lightly, Pickles purring in the crook of his elbow. He must have snuck in while Clint was out, and Clint made a mental note to make sure he closed the door next time. Clint stood for a long moment, watching Bucky sleep. He looked peaceful, relaxed, in a way Clint hadn’t seen for years. Clint was going to do everything he could to keep him that way.

“I love you,” he whispered again, just one more time for good luck. 

Bucky’s eyes slid open. “I love you too,” he said, waving Clint closer. Clint gently cleaned him off, feeling Bucky’s eyes on him the whole time. Pickles, objecting to the movement, jumped down and sauntered out the door.

Once he was clean, skin gleaming and damp, Bucky pulled Clint down for a kiss. Clint had meant to tell Bucky that they should take a shower and have something to eat, but all that could wait. 

Everything else could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this version of a different post-Endgame universe. In this house, canon is more a set of guidelines than actual rules. 
> 
> One last HUGE thank you to [tellthemyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tellthemyes/profile) (aka [quandjebois](https://quandjebois.tumblr.com) on tumblr). This section of the fic has gone through the most intensive revisions and rewrites, and I can say with absolute certainty that it would not have turned out like it has without your constant support and motivation. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [pietray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pietray/pseuds/pietray) Log in to view. 




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